The Conversation

They hurried along with gritty determination.
A giant, his wife, a boy with a cow, a cat
wearing boots, an ill-humoured mother, trolls
and goats, a white rabbit, or possibly a hare,
followed by an old woman wearing a grey veil.
It draped the entirety of her head to foot.

We nodded and exchanged a pleasant morning.
“I fear,” she said, “my imagination has gone
its own way with me.” Such a familiar voice,
I thought, and had I listened when I spoke,
rather than speaking without listening,
I might have recognised her voice as my own.