Down on The Heath
Down on the heath I met my lover, by arches strewn with vines and flowers;
we kissed each other, then took cover, from skies portending April showers.
Well I remember then I said – as evening fell so still and solemn -
that 'flames will out, if too much fed' - as shadows grew around each column.
Down on the beach I met my lover, beneath the slate-skies of November;
I took her arm - I did discover - within my heart a final ember.
But now it only could be said – as evening fell so still and solemn -
'the flame is out, since too much fed' - as winter grew around that autumn.