I will lay flowers for the girl in room thirteen.

In my shame of playing armchair detective,

having trudged the streets

in which her story

was told, I, like countless others,

forgot there was a human being

and not a story, a puzzle to solve,

that sang such songs of haunting sorrow

in room thirteen.

 

The long since forgotten grave, unmarked

and without any ceremony

since the day she was blessed by the Earth

should hold testament to the despise we

should hold to the Victorian era

that held such unfortunate people

in their thrall and I promise

with hand on heart that the next time

I find myself in the Village’s grip

I will lay some flowers for her.

 

She lived in dreams,

the reality too desperate for thought

but as she cradles the Earth

in Leytonstone’s path, I wish her sleep

is pure, now far from harm.

 

Ian D. Hall 2015