If you never hear from me again ,
just remember this ,
it is that I loved you with the fondness of spring ,
for it was not in a twinkling that I did depart ,
but it was to ever lay upon the ruins of my heart ,
the sadness it would bring .
For Not an ounce was it not spared ,
upon these mill. Ponds ,
that rippled ,
that laid bare upon this  frozen earth ,
those daffodils of spring .


But alas this winter is eternal has laid contempt upon my brow ,
as our bodies perish ,
from this cold ,
but  let it not be like this if it  is it to be remembered ,
for only  by the merriment of youth ,
shall it be endowed ,


That we should ever spend our days on earth ,without a friend ?

And the dear sentiments of when we first met ,
are now only tinged with the  deepest regret .
That these bitter winds one day might end ,
and if they do I beg  of you ,
that you will see me ,
not then  as the years have marched on ,
but as a companion and a friend.


But if not the years than what ?
For the years in all their  dearest forms ,
should dare to charm what we once knew .
For if it were my last food parcel would I not give unto you ?

For if it not Charity should ever boast about things just as these ,
It is that this endless winter should ever  bring us to our knees ,
and walk cap in hand to our Lord and master of thi# land ,
that he should take pity on the plight we now stand ?
Or if a passing stranger should walk on by ,
and take ruth,
under these blackened skies ?
Or just find one more thing to wither and die .

But they themselves have not food to eat ,
and walk aimlessly about these  forever cursed streets .

And as of now you lye unmoved ,
upon the ground
as snow gives you  it’s blanket of spring ,
unmoved unbowed ,
the daintiest most beautiful thing ,
Layed to waste upon the ground .

For now I to  must sleep for a while ,
for death is only the first flower of spring,
the most prettiest ever eternal thing

There’s a church in Marytown ,
It’s ruins lay forgotten in this cold old Cumbria town .
Just bird song now fills its rotting pews ,
and. You tell me “  the bird ****  dos’nt bother you ? ‘

And there’s a hole in the roof where the rain still pours  in ,
In this Cumbrian town which closed its doors ,
the first days of spring.
Where it’s vermin crawl about yet are never heard ,
except by the owls the cats and the birds .

So As a darkness falls
on to this canvas of grey ,
a famous artist once picked up his brushes to paint ,
Studied it’s red brick sandstone spire ,
Where ships coming home ,
once lost at sea


found  Bibles like the holy grail ,
a bowl of soup for the sick and the frail .

There is a Church in Marytown ,
It’s led roofs have
been torn down,
When once it was a bustling town .

When people used to sing and dance.,found                             forgiveness for their repentant hearts
But now the thief’s have all moved in ,
their plates of silver ,
their crosses of puter and tin .
they  left in sacks like Viking foe ,
who pillaged this  land a long time ago ,
thee pieces of silver for their tormented souls .

And so it is when we all fall apart when the grace we felt was a piece of art ,
to look and admire upon a wall ,
then  a chilling wind blow s in  to heed Gods call,
and your canvas is as Grey as the skies ,
as the rains pitter patter falls .
For only Then will our grey skies find a lighter blue ,
In a permenant reminder Christ died for you .

A shivering sun arose ,
It’s embers we’re cold ,
when you said we were finished you powdered you’re nose .
Now here I stand broken and all alone ,
In a space we once called,
“ Our lovely new home “

With unknown guests ,
that peer and stare ,
and fix their eyes on me  as if I’m not there .

But I have seen them moving about ,
In chambers and sculleries when the light has gone out .
Suddenly I can feel your breath on my skin ,
musty and rank ,
as the  fleeting winds ,
that blow a chill upon my spine ,
and take my breath away in the darkness of time .

My time has gone ,
and so have you ,
and the mornings suns rays bring  a damp to th3 dew .
as the branches thicken behind the trees that bring a reddening glow ,
where the sweet Alyssum forever blooms .
As the  ravens  flap their wings I feel. my heart pumping tight to my skin ,

lost in this dark forest where  I thought I knew what was best ?
Then death brought its pungent memories of spring                       of  you and i and a tatty old photograph ,
in a book on a shelf with its pages torn out .






So I light a fire to warm my feet and toes ,,
and a flask of black coffee to face my  foes .

But now they have gone and I’m all alone ,
for the ones that once looked just peered and glowed .
Just the warmth of your touch O heaven knows ,
how long I have been awaiting all on my own.
I hear A knock on the door ,
and your cheary smile ?
Now The fires are stoked I guess your not there ,
an open door brings a chill to the air ,
but I can here voices ,
They pull up a chair,
and we spend the night talking just as if you were there .

The curtains are drawn ,
no one wakes ,
the nights are long as the wolf lies in wait ,
for and when the sun burns out it’s days
the world will  be a happier place .

For no one dares now to venture out ,
their doors are shut ,
and are all bolted up .

And on the hearth a boiling stew ,
of rabbit or what ever runs and crawls ,
they will catch that  to.

Fasten down the bales in the wind,
for everything moves and nothing is still .

And if the winds die down for a while
the frost will bight ,
and break the bones of this  bitter night .
for  nothing is gained by the watch mans light .

Then when  the wolves and dogs will catch your hens ,
don’t fall asleep ,
to their wailing ends,
with flint lock poised ,                                                                ­             fo for the dead can’t awaken the wolf’s crafty stare ,
and pritty soon your hens won’t be there.!

And yes the nights will shorten soon ,
for one day they will end ,
and your crops will one day dance in your meadows again

It was a cold crisp morning when the fog had hardly enough time to lift ,
the seagulls each one first circling around empty egg shells ,
and discarded food the dust carts had left .

Then many more came a
Circling from far off land I had never seen  before ,
untill all I could see were wings of white all   flapping ,
like some kind of maddening on the floor .



And so The trees were stripped , their branches naked found their
gaiety in the winds
for no birds would find their nests ,
in spring.
their eggs flung out and crushed or stolen by children ,
with eager eyes yet somehow  lost along the way ,
then sold for half a crown ,
to the costermonger down the lane .
with  no time to breed ,
just die ,
and lie forgotten , dead upon the ground .





So life grows cold upon this land ,
it’s secrets may not tell ,
as empty shells discarded once ,
brought a new born babies  yell  .
And Mary sung in a land far far away ,
a small child at last  should bring some joy ,
as what the Angels say ,
In Christ a new born King will be born
and In a stable
  lay .

It was a cold crisp morning as many a seagulls sung ,
as if the world was at last waiting for ,
It’s new born
Son .

I walked in rooms I had not known ,
In a mansion that was not my own.
A scroll of papers on her bed ,
untill now were left unread .

Now There was once a room above we’re many flights of stairs ,
where Lucy sat to contemplate her thoughts and many prayers .
Whilst alone with candel light she shared
all her dreams and fears .

“ My love is our thread in deep dark twine ,
the kind of love that will pass throughout time ,
for many. a year I have awaited for a stranger.
For there is not one you must not tell ,
or our rondaview must  it end  in hell?
Then for if it is pergetory  that I must stay ,
for smiling at a stranger ?

O For then it is with you  I must reside ,
far away where I can hide .
Might gale and every storm abide this love I hold must  then requent  and die ,
for talking to a stranger .

Come quick for I fear his  every step  his evil eye  his stinking breath



for with each step he takes my heart grows ever colder.
As  with each beat of my heart  a chandelier starts to flicker .

For it is for you my dreams awake each night ,
to the sound of hooves that gallop and torches bright ,
like days of old my shining knight should ever ask upon my favor ?

Where branches scratch and sun grows cold ,
and shifting spirits a curse of old ,                                                             all for a night of talking with a stranger .

And if you are too late my candles dims ,
my light goes out ,
I cannot win ,
for without you my heart can’t  sing
and  so  unto death my blade grows ever sharper
and so my blood runs even darker ,
and  death is as cold as a stranger .

Her wings hung restless against the open shaw,
how she needed love like she did before ,
yet the evil knight with temprance went  followed her forever .

There was no cliff that she could hide ,
for her wings grew weary against the tide ,
the battering winds that were her guide ,
the evil knight that stalked her .

O help,me please “ said she but the geece flew south their flock forever honking  ,
"We cant help you we have to fly to feed our chicks or mate or die ,
and you have been left alone said I .
alas we cannot help ya ."

So she asked the winds to help her fly ,
against the bird that sort her ,
they lifter her up way on high above her evil stalker .



And so the evil knight that masked his wings
hid crafty thoughts above all things ,
but he somehow failed to find her.

“ There you are home at last ,”
said the wind that hid the blast ,
then softly died ,
and left her .

And as the rock which hid all things ,
in its cracks
her dainty wings
he hid them all her precious things
their mouths forever open ,
and so death became her daughter ,
and waited until she was alone ,
to stalk her .