Hair stands high on the cat?s back like
A ridge of threatening hills
Sheepdogs howl, make tracks and growl ---
Their tails hanging low
And young children falter in their games
At the altar of life?s hide-and-seek
Between tall pillars, where sunday-night killers
In grey raincoats peek
Misty colours unfold a backcloth cold ---
Fine tapestry of silk
I draw around me like a cloak
And soundless glide a-drifting
On eddies whirled in beech leaves furled ---
Brown and gold they fly
In the warm mesh of sunlight
Sifting now from a cloudless sky

I?ll be coming again like an old dog in pain
Blown through the eye of the hurricane
Down to the stones where old ghosts play