Can you remember the sun-kissed days of summer,
On this missely* morning, grey and uninspiring,
Tramping through the bracken, broken back and dying,
Traversing muddy paths, with brackish water lying,
All along their course?
And the dogs, wet bellied, mud splattered,
Not giving a tinker's cuss about it,
Hell bent on hunting all those rabbits,
Through the endless tracts of gorse?
Can you recall the sap-scent from those pine trees,
Now that winter's hand has choked the forest floor?
Slipping, checking, grabbing out at branches,
Recovering equilibrium and dignity, once more:
And the chill wind's force?
Holding on to hat that's buffeted and battered,
No slightest trace of shape left in it,
Intent on teasing you to catch and grab it,
Without any feeling of remorse?
Can you recollect the splitting, spitting, fir cone,
Imagine burning sun and feel your brow perspiring,
See dung fly hover on the pat, wings droning,
Hear hoof beats, rider hell bent, stirrups flying,
With you intent on staying at one with dancing horse?
See that willowy youth in shaded clearing lying,
With pillowy lass, limbs all entwined and sighing?
Forget the aching joints and just remember,
You had your day - once you were that lover,
Summer will come back again, and back again, for ever,
When the kind old sun will warm your bones,
And give you back resource.