Uncle Pat

I set off this morning down the road along the river

Which I take but once a year

My walk will take me by the shore, then inland for a mile or more

From the cold sea spray

A small wood stands upon the hill, an old house near it lies in ruins

Forgotten long ago

And here in a clearing, overgrown with moss and ivy

Is your lonely grave

At dusk, I will make my way along the lanes and through the fields

To where my cottage is

But before I step inside for bed, I'll look up at the stars as we had

All those years ago

So here's for Uncle Pat