You measured my depression in pheasants
I know exactly what you did now –
you measured my depression in pheasants
by thinking that taking me from England
to Belgium, all would be better.
You were a realist, you knew pheasants
exist here too, but are much rarer,
only seen on train-tracks in early morning
and usually dead, whereas at home,
in England, every glance out the window
reveals a foppish pheasant cock.
You were lovingly mistaken in thinking
you could control my depression this way
for I do not measure it in pheasants,
I do not know what I measure it by.