Alice has already told you this story before
But she cannot be here this morning
So if I might
I will make my own recollection
Of thrusting torrents battering
The buttress pillars of the bridge
Raging and racing waters, tearing their way
Tumultuous and tremulous down to the sea
It is December after all
With silver grey skies miles above the moor
A single guest in the quiet guest house
Alice could not be here not today
So let us with our memories press on
