Old Ghosts

Hair stands high on the cat's back like A ridge of threatening hills Sheepdogs howl, make tracks and growl Their tails hanging low And young children falter in their games At the altar of life's hide-and-seek Between tall pillars, where sunday-night killers In grey raincoats peek I'll be coming again like an old dog in pain Blown through the eye of the hurricane Down to the stones where old ghosts play Misty colours unfold a backcloth cold Fine tapestry of silk I draw around me like a cloak And soundless glide a-drifting On eddies whirled in beech leaves furled Brown and gold they fly In the warm mesh of sunlight Sifting now from a cloudless sky I'll be coming again like an old dog in pain Blown through the eye of the hurricane Down to the stones where old ghosts play Yes I'll be coming again like an old dog in pain Blown through the eye of the hurricane Down to the stones where old ghosts play