Endless dreadful winters have melted into the Wharfe,
Since we last shared cigarette and hope by the rhythm of the weir.
I recall your tears as you came to grasp at what was left of your existence.
I saw you try retrace the steps your boyhood trod in earlier, un-feared days.
I understood that you had changed, and that such change had wounded you forever.
Eternally in debt to God am I, that such forevers were not long.
Now too late I understand so much, though little made much sense that day.
I know you left the park as if drawn along on the invisible strings of destiny.
I remember how you turned and smiled, but I failed to see the reaper walking in your wake.
