Some days I dream about how we could
Move to London, find a flat or part
Of a house on a close close to an ancient wood
Or anywhere near a park. We’d explore art
Galleries and eat cake in the crypt
At St. Martin and tool around the town on bikes,
Cross the river and see a play with a script
That I wrote. We’d travel north and take long hikes
Along sea cliffs.Then we’d build a fire
And drink hot chocolate and whisky. Back in town
We’d go to work and school, sing in a choir,
And drink pints in the pub, the Something and Crown.
We’ll go to the market for bread and leeks and flowers
And have soup for supper and talk and laugh for hours.