I worry endlessly
about my children
lying stuffed into books
and musty diaries
unwilling to spoil the summer air
with their innate gloominess.
Will your hiding places be discovered?
Will you be pulled out trembling
into the bright sunlight
to be examined as evidence
for my alleged eccentricities
once I am no more a bodily barrier
between you and your nemesis?
I do not know but hope
no part of me will be hanging around
to watch you die
None to love, none you can enthuse,
uncherished mites of an unrequited passion
my world was never right for you.