I hear his voice

I think I see his shadow on the wall
My eye is waiting for his shape and form
I hear his footsteps passing down the hall

Feeling loss in winter,my heart fails
Cruelly I crush myself with scorn
I want to see his shadow on the wall

In the dark of evening,does he call?
I slept propped up, from bedtime until dawn
I hear his footsteps passing down the hall

I wandered with him,  high in Wensleydale
In Richmond  Town the people have now gone
I want to see his shadow on the wall.

On the Cleveland Hills,I will bewail
In  rich heather there was our kingdom
I hear his footsteps  or the morning mail

The little words invented in our dawn
Died within his lips, from where they came
I think I see his shadow on the wall
I hear his voice when  standing in the hall