I donít propose to grizzle any longer on the beach
at Tomis, or by the waters of Babylon. These hills
will always provide a shoulder to weep on,
and on windy days (the kind that cripple trees)
a deck to take off from, if I really have to go.
All I need is the illusion of solace or escape
and I wonít worry about falling off Ė
suddenly, one day, too much time has passed.
I become aware that theyíve shelled and divided
up the heart of my childhood. And I donít
suppose that now Iíve left school the winter skies
of Northern Europe are any brighter.
So I hold on
to these hills, which change their costume, but not
their shape, catching me daily, in every weather.
[from MTFLG, McIndoe]
© The Estate of Bill Sewell 2004