I open my window vent facing the open south,
I gaze to my right to the setting sun,
and to my left to Bawdsey and Poland,
As my lonely days draw to a close.

It's open in the hope that,
I'll catch her call on the wind,
or somehow inhale her breath from the air,
but they never come.

Death is standing behind me with great posture,
as if for me to turn round and shake his hand,
so he can take the heavy breathing away from me,
and stop the heavy beating of my heart.