V

He was a soldier, she was proud of that. This was his house and she would keep it well. His honour was in fighting, hers in what He'd left her here in charge of. Then a spell Of conscience sent her through the orchard spying Upon the gardeners. Were their tools about? Were any branches broken? Had the weeds Been duly taken out Under the 'spaliered pears, and were these lying Nailed snug against the sunny bricks and drying Their leaves and satisfying all their needs?