Read a poem by another poet written
on the same day:

Down hedgerowlined lanes
in deep English countryside
we slept in pursuit
in rooms timbered with oak beams
and a lively cast of flowers
beneath our ledge

At nine our quarry
might be a few yards ahead
in shoe shops, souvenir shops
or rattling away
as we still struggle
to shake off our dreams

Perhaps the King's daughter
will resurface at court
still aching with report
of our bumbling pursuit
our clumsy attempt at chaperoning
publicly torn  to tatters

But there look espy her now
no, she's still here thank god
and plays with her little dog,
throws a red ball on the lawn
laughing and skipping in summer sun.
Let's finish our tea in peace

No quick that's not her
take these binoculars
look for yourself—over there!
She has indeed fled here—and
there's a headless corpse
lying beside a cave too!

See on the river there:
a head bobs up and down—
by gad it's the Queen's son
our quarry is leagued with rogues
and has slipped our net    
and we must away without breakfast

East Finchley