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Poem by Mary Hobson


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The pains the same size as the love.
How can I wish it less?
The pair of them are hand in glove.
Its hard to guess
which one hurts most.
The hell with it. Ill play the host
to pain, Ill make a friend of it,
and wait for death to make an end of it.

March 30th, 2001

Mary Hobson


Mary Hobson's other poems:
  1. Laundry Blues
  2. The Counsellors
  3. Summer in Zaraisk or Who wrote Shakespeare?
  4. Waterloo Station
  5. Now I will always know that you died


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