There it was
on the kitchen bench...

The house is beginning
to echo now...

The pavement their pitch
a busker and an addict...

A musty shoebox
letters tied with faded bow...

on a cobbled street
the aroma of fresh bread...

Shivering heather
awaken to misty moors...

...desiccated earth
where the river used to flow...

A revolving door of ghosts
morphing into new members...

Kuebiko felt very old now
and spent his days...

My Mhamo is beautiful,
her eyes sparkle...

...lie beneath a headstone
with the words...

Emmerdale Farm plays
as you sit there...