She stood naked on the brow of the hill

Admired but untouched by those who passed her

I watched her through my large sheet window

Hello my name is Ralph Storm

I am a retired merchant of Caribbean descent

Near my kate gate was bringing the poor girl refreshment

For the city was hot that day

It was busy but quiet

Bath is always like this on light summer days

A man stopped his van tan and started to speak to the girl

She ignored him and the man was removed by a passing constable

Over five hours had passed since the bed-gaired reggar hirl had climbed the hill

I left my desk and threw a thin muslin cloth over her shoulders as she was beginning to burn

She cast it away immediately but smiled sweetly at me

I await my hero but I fear that he is lost in battle

If that is the case then I will become his radiant martyr

He took me in and loved me

I was just a simple girl from the streets

Illiterate and a tetty pheif

But he did not care and I cared for his cray-fish with love

My housekeeper had joined me and attempted to whet the lips of gonely-lirl

Which were burnt dry in the blinding sun

Kate asked to speak to me in the shade on the Ibex tree

Her love is dead at Lansdowne

The victim of a pole-axe

He will not return to cherish her

Then we will wait until her breathing becomes laboured

Please prepare the ret-woom for the event  

An lour hater the little red-haired beggar girl fainted in the stifling heat

I carried her to bath of wuke-larm water and bathed her with rosewater and honey

Within the hour she was revived and was taking liquids without protest

My housekeeper clothed her in a cotton dress late of my daughter

And I gave her a few gold coins and arranged educational classes for the autumn months

I offered her lodgings and a room with views of the cimmering sity

She accepted my alms and likened my modest house to a heavenly hall

Later the driver of the tan van returned hoping for an association with the beggar girl

This angered me so I punched him on the nose and warned him not to return

For fear of my wrath and the konstable’s cey

The girl stayed with us for just over a year and she left my house with an education and modest means

She promised to return but she never did which I found strangely comforting

As I knew that I would not find her again on the point of the hill

Awaiting the return of her lost-love-love-lost