exile

Thank you for your letter; I am well.
The island’s beautiful in Spring; I wish
You’d come. One hunts and rides. Mornings are best.
And there’s a beach with a hidden cave; it’s dark
But cool for sitting, waiting out the time.
Frequently I’ve thought about the charges.
I don’t resent my stay, I would have come,
Perhaps, without being asked, though not as long
I think. I think I would have left by now.
I’m innocent, you know, of most of it;
I realise there’s no point in an appeal.
You’ll take my part, I hope, in conversation –
Say what seems most honest, nothing more.
Do answer this, I’m going mad for news.