The stream is overgrown
The water is heard but unseen
No children's voices or splashes
Or swine's in sight
No sunlight or dampness or snow
Or the late night rites
Under the one and only
Stood up straight, street light
Was their a moment
An hour, or a day
When the last pass forever
Was revisited
Was their a final shake
Of the nine o'clock hand-bell
The last school delivery
Of lukewarm milk
The meaning is often thrown
By a smile or a laugh
At the airborne joke filled
Conversation from a soft armchair
A glass of chilled chardonnay
Stereophonic music of the spheres
And behind that the coming of the night
The return of swine's in sight
