poetry@cheviotwalks

 

 

 

 

ON BRAYDON CRAG:

FOR GEORGE KYLE (& SHEILA)

 

On this October day,

I come to Braydon Crag as dust,

not flesh and blood.

The sharp wind strikes

the shattered stone.

 

In nineteen forty four

I broke your heart.

An airman`s would-be bride

jilted on her wedding day.

I left you sobbing

on Northumberland`s frozen edge.

 

You asked too much of me

on that December day.

 

I come, like confetti

on the autumn wind,

contented now to lie with you,

your shoulders draped

in green and grey, a glint of sunshine

in your eyes.

 

I come to Braydon Crag

on this October day.

Is that a dog I hear

barking through the mist?

 

 

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READ ABOUT GEORGE KYLE, SHEILA & THE B17 FLYING FORTRESS