It was a long walk, that four miles
crisp stillness hanging tangible in crystal air
glass-lake-path rising falling twisting turning here then there.
You grinned tolerantly with knowing eyes
my new book and I must have classified every tree
boots clumping noisily, with friendly look at passers-by.
We were tired that good day, butter heart,
you are now part of my past, restricted, still-sought
and today I would dearly love you here with me.
Collected Works
Return to Collections all
next poem