Fathoming the gulf between us
Whose brambled banks bleed us dry
And its weathered hollowed mouth,
Groans toward the auroral even-light
The mist strokes the hair
Of its rippling creeper-life
Hemlock murmurs under the fall
Of vermilion leaves
Some of us shivering,
Some of us still off baited hook,
Hang blistered tongues
From the bone-lit canopy
Of Neverbegoodwood
When the winter comes,
And heather belles ring for us,
One last look at the giant leaves,
One last breath before the gloom