Gwen Harwood - Suburban Sonnet lyrics

She practises a fugue, though it can matter to no one now if she plays well or not. Beside her on the floor two children chatter, then scream and fight. She hushes them. A pot boils over. As she rushes to the stove too late, a wave of nausea overpowers subject and counter-subject. Zest and love drain out with soapy water as she scours the crusted milk. Her veins ache. Once she played for Rubinstein, who yawned. The children caper round a sprung mousetrap where a mouse lies dead. When the soft corpse won't move they seem afraid. She comforts them; and wraps it in a paper featuring: Tasty dishes from stale bread.