A Game of Patience

A Game of Patience, 1937, Meredith Frampton




Dressed in blue-stocking grey, to match the sharpness 
of her intellect, Margaret Austin-Jones 
sits alone in solitary pursuit. 
Her eyes deep hazel, her hair sweet chestnut, 
crimped in waves so neat and precise they match her
manner and the cut of her dress, (modern, 
Vogue-patterned, made for her with care).
Although she's up-to-date, she is but
young and wise in every way but love.
Like Eve she yearns too much for life, desires
to taste the apple, touch  the texture of 
the ears of corn, impatient for the blood- 
red buds to bloom. She hears a footfall on 
the stair, her heartbeat pounds, she glances at
the door.  Like a scene from a novel, in
a room with a view, the dramatic part 
has come; she has played a patient game of 
waiting for a suitor to appear, has 
craved and dreamed herself a handsome, kindly
knave but little knows she may have drawn instead
a darkly evil, scheming, King of Spades.



Cait O’Connor




This is Sunday's Magpie Tale, read others here