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 your wedding day.
I left you sobbing
on Northumberland`s frozen edge.
You asked too much
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?