Mike Heron Jane
Jane can't tell me if her hands
Are trembling with emotion
Of grief or fear or joy.
Jane looks down at her brown shoes.
She knows that the shine upon them
Should please someone like you.
Someone like you would like to take Jane off
To run on sands so white.
To buy her boat trips if you could
And watch her drink tea.
Jane can't tell me if her heart
Is racing with emotion
Of grief or fear or joy.
