How much she knew, the woman of words.
Latin and grammar, her voice high, full of laughter, culture
in a drear room of smiles and nods, stiff-back chairs.
She read and walked, pale eyes searching.
And she warned a poem had a naughty word,
and read it out aloud anyway, giving that word
a guttural push, and it leapt from her beautiful mouth
and sailed, ripe and rich, to settle on delicate minds.
No one said a word, though one lady gave a little shudder