Follow the wall, always follow the wall,

though it is wet, and green and hard.

Along half a street, a place where strangers

now live, downhill, in the dark.

The threatened rain sounds soon

to deliver, and from up here

you still cannot hear the sea.

Follow the wall. Up from Esters field,

over the stone steps along stone chair lane.

Stop awhile, there should be a view here,

but all is dark and dank, sea fret has concealed

the sea, and the rain has obscured the view.

Some sort of scene remains, silent and sane,

the mizzle doesn’t help much either,

dulls and deadens.

Why is this the view you came for, why?

There a few house lights break through,

the grey and sanguine scene,

(more now than ever before,)

Christmas lights, dimmed, blink pointlessly

Wind and yet more rain, feeling refreshed.

the cold, dark, night is sweet and mellow,

and drunk with melancholy.

Turn your back to it all. Follow the wall.

Along past the old garage,

post office, and out by the shop.

Across the road. Here the houses have their

back to you and the rain.

The narrow kerb, guides you,

along a wall, wet and hard and green,

to the graveyard, and ancient church,

Darker here, the street lights enhance the gloom

Stop awhile at the locked church barred.

Nothing is sacred any more,

but there is shelter here, and security.

While clouds unleash hard driven rain,

Your back to the sanctuary, light a smoke, and wait.

Forgoing the first and the last,

never what it was, nor ever to be.

Past the granite houses, and we’re back against a wall.

Down past seaview, with no sea view, we follow the hedge.

Here the roads diverge,

Taking the left , and wary of cars in this blackest of nights,

huddled against the searing winds, the driven cold,

The hard pressed rains, we follow a wall.

The passing place a sanctuary, but there is no traffic,

hurry along the wall, to Trevescan, the secret path,

and home, alone once more.