Happy shall be they who see you.
And those who have fallen asleep in love.
I dose in front of the winter fire, the wood burning through and through.
There is only a memory now of Summer’s bell shaped flowered foxglove.

I was trying to moor the boat.
I could not lift the anchor buoy, it’s chain under water I could not see.
It tangled in the propeller, disaster, at least I was still afloat.
All life it seemed is wasted effort to me.

My heart, with the effort, hurt.
Perhaps the digitalis in that foxglove might have helped.
Can I ever hope with hope to be less curt.
But how I inwardly cursed and yelped.

I recall now those words of Isaiah, fall asleep in love.
And rest like the peaceful dove.