I ought to write
About the light fading
About the wind turbines
Slowing down
About the frost
Laying deep, and crisp, and even
I ought to tell you
That this is the top
Of the Pennines, near to
My forefather’s roots
That nearby are still
Some of my family
I could tell you
That as I sat, in those
Spare few moments
And after
A calm conversation
With my eldest son
I had an empathy
For everyone who
Feels themselves
To be alone
Or feels themselves
To be lonely
I know that the emerging
Darkness, and the loss
Of the horizon
Will do little
Or nothing at all
To relieve their pain
I have all but completed
My Christmas shopping
Cards, and gifts
For family and friends
Who, through my sixty-five years
Have mostly spared me
From the emptiness of loneliness
