Rosemary Kay


Lizzie Nee

In memory of Lizzie Nee, (28.12.1994 -1.3.2017)

One of the loveliest young women I have known.


Little Bit of Lizzie


If you’re trying to write a story and you make it how the world is

how it feels

wrong and broken,

you’ll write despairing characters

lost and desperate

fragile  angry  futile  lonely.


But what you also need I’ve discovered

is a little bit of Lizzie.


You might think there isn’t much of Lizzie to go round


the good die young.

Stupid commonplace, repeated far too often, without thought, sometimes makes me really angry, but sometimes it is true.

She was good.

And she did.


But a little Lizzie is

the drop of paint in water to colour skies a ghostly blue

the baton tap from conductors when the players are warming up

the engine-purr of rescue boats across a vast, vast sea

the silver on horizons when the day begins to dawn.


People leave a debris of themselves behind

the path they trampled through the world

remains of living messily.

But Lizzie didn’t trample.

She was a giving glow, sometimes invisible, a soft breeze of wisdom.

What’s left behind of Lizzie

every fragment

every trace

each tender tiny moment

really makes a difference.


So when I’m writing of the world

I’ll add a drop of Lizzie to make the story better.

And a little bit of Lizzie goes a long way.

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