Regret is not The fleeting deferral of some brief romance Regret is the inability to react to the irreversible moment of something created slipping away
(My boy Jamie being led into that bitter cold by a hand that should have been none but my own)
Photographs faded pulpit dark and winter noon grey are but the same as extinguishing candles to mark , instead , what could have been done for the world
(I thought they were better off being together with their own kind so I used to hurry past them waiting for the trains their children tidy and smiling, nevertheless)
And the Angelus bell will continue to ring long after we all rot. And the ghosts we share will take all but their names with them, to be dug up for some purpose of record to fissure a cause for disquiet along the nuns' walk wall.
(Before that, she had been such a carful girl and these days I wince at the sound of giggles which remind me of hers.)
All inverted lines are invented, but based on testimonies of real events.