Travel this ancient path beneath lichen.
Worn rock and turf tell of this bow above
where a boy once swung in sun and smiles.
Further on, in a clearing above a gorge,
reticent walls of hand hewn stone
draw around a keen sycamore.
We meet at this hearth, exposed by daylight
where fire once warmed newborn lambs
and a family name.
Names were altered, time again
by a Clergy mouth at a blissful wedding,
or scribed by a mason in high Chapel lands.
Summers were heaven, winters were hell
and the oak fed the flames.
Stand within these reclaimed walls.
Brook roars as it tightens to cliffs and dying elms
where a boy once slipped on ice and drowned.
Leave a foot print in the moss, if you will.
(poem exhibited in a small book of poetry at Derelict Sensations 2003, other artists listed here Derelict Sensations, St Pancras)