SA ( / UK)

The Last Walk

Sunday morning.
Hazy sunshine,
Cool Breeze,
Poppies dancing
In the hedgerows.

Up the hill,
Flanked by nettles
Now growing taller than me.
Dwarfed by the lofty trees
All wearing their summer splendour.
I spy a foxglove flowering.
At the top, the tall ancient oak,
Which in summer offers
Cool shade from the hot sun.

Through the pine thicket.
On stormy days you can
Hear the rush of the wind
Through the canopy,
Their trunks creaking
As they bend and sway.
But today they are still,
Dappled with sunlight
As the morning mist clears.

Past the field where
Two chestnut horses
Graze with the rabbits,
Until we reach the stile.
I pause to watch
A squirrel on the fence,
He eyes me warily,
But doesn’t move.

Through the stile
Into Oak Wood.
No oaks here, mainly pines,
But too far for most folk,
So beautiful and still.
Just the sounds of nature.

I walk the same mile
Along the bridle paths
That we used to,
All those years ago.
Memories of him and me
When we were both full of life,
Always ready to embrace the day.

Today my old friend
Is not running by my side,
Today I carry him
In a little green box
Decorated with a posy
Of artificial white flowers.

Today I will leave him here,
Where we spent
Many happy hours
In each other’s company.
Today will be
Our last walk together.

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