The dead sheep

One day I saw a sheep that drowned

In the estuary of the River Kent

It lay with blank eyes on the dirty sand close  by the promenade at Arnside

The beautiful rivers are dangerous as is the sea.

Nothing can be perfect or lovely forever

But still the glory of my first vision will never leave me.

And the wildflowers and butterflies I still see in my mind’s eye

I would have liked to grow up in that freedom instead of the noxious industrial air in the mill town.

I can’t imagine heaven will be any better to me.