~*~
My breathing was like screaming
I knew not what to do
When news came you were living still
Those rumours proved untrue
I truly thought you dead, my love
No hope of a reprieve
So when I heard you were but hurt
I struggled to believe
Delays, delays. My mind cannot
Stop turning as I wait
A day has passed since last reports
It surely is too late
If I can get there whilst you live
If I am granted time
To spend five minutes by your side
I swear I’ll not repine.
~*~
Poem by solitaryjo, originally uploaded onto Tumblr
Title (and many of the words) from A week at Waterloo in 1815: Lady De Lancey’s Narrative
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