She was music, was painting
Was story, was verse
Was deep conversation
Was mother, was nurse
His name on the door plate,
Engraved with her own
I knew Josephine
He was not, she was home

From summer to summer
With space in between
To grow a year older
I witnessed a scene
Unfolding like fiction
We don’t intervene
In matters domestic
I knew Josephine

The guards in their quarter
Must surely have heard her
Their three-cornered hats
And their flags, their inertia
The neighbours were fearful
They stood at the door
They knew Josephine
Was it worse than before?

From summer to summer...

It was just the one street
That the story has passed
He sits on his doorstep
Misfortunes amassed
By his own careless hand
He is widowed and shameless
I knew Josephine
She was blameless

From summer to summer…