A wishful thinking editor re-spelt
my name with a T and changed a poem’s
final words from ‘a tramp woman nurses
an infant/under a tumbling sky’ to
‘under a trembling sky’. Humbling to find
an editor’s chance(?) choice of epithet
happier than mine own! Mine was truer.
One winter night, I was changing trains at Crewe
and a red faced fellow traveller
sang, “…not her beauty alone. ‘Twas the truth
in her eye made me love the Rose of Tralee”.