In my dream:
she, lying in a hospital bed
told me she was dying —
told me not to worry —
told me everything would be all right.

Hours later I was told
she’d died that morning
at Manchester Memorial — an overdose.

I was a young clergyman
trying to help her sort out some theology.
She was a mother of two —
married to a man I came to love
whose recent death has set me thinking.

All that was fifty years ago.
No dream has had such staying power!

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