Down The Path

Down the path,
past the gate.

Turn left,
along the pavement.
Past the first lamp,
the corner shop with no youths outside.

Turn right,
in the clear night,
down the short street,
lamps lit white.

Left at the end,
down the main road.
Cars whizz past infrequently.
Past the light,
the hill,
a lone couple,
the post box,
and rustling trees.
A cat dashes across.

Onward,
past the closed shop,
turn left in winding arc,
into the dark avenue.
Tall branches,
that wave and smell of April blossom.
Past the eternal orange lamp,
the hedge on the left,
the strange square house,
and slow,
to your gate.
Touch,
and feel its metallic coldness.
Pause,
and look up at the dark window,
with fondness.

© Mark Sheeky. Permission is required for reproduction.