By Raglan Road and Hollis [sic] Street I shall walk blind
Remembering that through her eyes I first looked there
At walls and windows that became more rare
Than Eden flowering in a poet's mind.
Unless you come
I shall die in a ditch,
Poet dead in a ditch.
Hilda, I have day-dreamed walking the streets
For years, and walking the fields I have filled the
Hours with happy imaginings.
The bluebells are withered now under the beech trees
And I am there - the ghost of myself - alone
Trying to remember a truth I once had known
Poking among the weeds on bare knees
Praying, praying poetic incantation
To call back life to that once-green plantation.