it was four shillings’ worth of words, moved gently once
across millennia and given with a thoughtful line to soothe
the nights of chilling blackouts. i found it hidden on a shelf
in a charitable establishment quietly run by some odd fellows
in a forgotten, ancient alley. at first, its dusty gilded head
and slightly soiled burgundy covers escaped my eye, but then
i took a half step back and grabbed their word of sudden hope
at a time when hope was worth no word.
hidden pilcrow 