I was born in a facing cottage

All of its dry stone walls

Were built by my late father

Who now sleeps in the shadow

Of a ruined church tower

 

My mother still lives with me

And often works the fields

In my more vivid dreams

I have just buried her loyal dog

Who was my friend and companion

 

We are only weeks away

From the wild winter winds

I dread these featureless days

As my loneliness becomes so raw

That hibernation is my only retreat