Ginger Biscuits

by Lynn White

It was a country guest house,
once a working farm.
The lady of the house was brushing Lily’s hair.
“Lily doesn’t go out anymore,” she said,
“she refuses.”

She put down her brush
and gave Lily a ginger biscuit
which was delicately eaten.
“I tempted her out for a walk
a couple of years ago.”
She waved the packet in explanation
of the source of temptation.

“We walked down the lane
and she was fine at first
and then a rabbit ran across.
She stopped and turned
and looked at me
with wild rolling eyes.
She would go no further
wouldn’t be tempted
so we turned.

She wanted to go home
but I tempted her,“ she waved the packet,
“and we went further.
Then a bird flew across
and she stopped and turned
to look at me with wild rolling eyes.
She would go no further
wouldn’t be tempted.
So we turned
and went home.”

She gave Lily a ginger biscuit
which was delicately eaten.
Then she opened up her storeroom
to show me the piled up boxes of
ginger biscuit,
floor to ceiling
ginger biscuit.
“Lily won’t eat anything else now.
And well, they don’t go far.
A packet of ginger biscuit,
it’s not much for a horse, you know!”

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