The flower upon the window’s ledge
Would wither as you lay in bed.
Down from its eminence in the trees
The heron tiptoes through the reeds.
Kingfishers, the barking dogs,
The Spinners Arms, the brewer’s still
Towards the bridge beyond the hill
The Caldew Valley, the cycle paths-
An angler baits his line and casts.
Coverts of willows, yew, and grasses
The fairy beck in silence passes.
The phantom shadow of an owl
The scattering petals of a flower.
How days of winter wax too long
Too soon, the joys of Life are gone.
Down by the Caldew whose banks you walked
The heron through the shallows stalks.
Consumed by thoughts of love and hate
Man cannot thwart the hand of Fate…