In cold October rain I go again
down grey neglected streets my father knew,
past blackened walls and rows of silent houses
where years have watched their sullen scars accrue.
The chilling autumn rain sweeps steadily
as if it fell forever out of Time.
I walk unseen till I become a wraith,
a witless marionette, in some dim pantomime.
No one stands at the vanished door I seek,
no one waits in the light to lead me home again.
The silent houses mock me with their ruin
as if they mocked ghosts as well as men.
