I walk uphill to get groceries.
At the top of the hill, it goes down
and there’s the store in a small valley.
Then I walk back uphill and down, home;
though, sometimes, I have a pot of tea
half-way, when the ground flattens itself.
I see cows on these pleasant journeys;
and I hear birds. I lean on my stick.
I’d like life to go on for ever
as long as it doesn’t change too much
or get busy or run out of tea.
On good days, I go uphill again,
leaving my things to eat behind me.
I go past the store and then uphill
then downhill until the road turns left.
There is a good place to sit near there.
Poems For Ivor Cutler # 3
1 August 2010