Sheltering beneath discolouration,
ladies sip tea on the green
at forever garden parties,
while hollyhocks, trumpet the morning with colour,
lavender scents the air and rose petals
twist inward just a little more.
Cold, calculating, stabs of laughter
wring napkins in laps,
forced smiles under examination and the cracking
of the most affable glaze weakens ladies sighs,
as the dashing Mr Colonel appears.
They congratulate themselves on their good fortune,
to be almost proper,
plastered decals upon the teapot,
with a flea bitten chipped spout,
collecting dust upon the sideboard.
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