Romney marsh , five a.m.
Just me and Bankrobber
out here again .
Thinking of Terence , fading in the hospice .
He said the virus would get him,
but he also said
life is what you make of it .
Out here early on the marsh
( walking the dog )
I get peace of mind ,
while Terence hovers
on the edge of coma ,
peacefully running out of time .

The shadows of night
are melting away ,
and Natures' nocturne
heralds the start of a new day .
The great Sun star rises , mediaevil ,
shafts through drifts of mist ,
only we , and sheep , see it .
Missed by sleepy people .

Here by the dyke
amongst the reeds and sedges ,
a flash of rusty cinnamon ,
a flitting dart of living light .
The gargled chirruc-churr
( like pebbles rubbed together )
of the reed warbler ,
sidling up the reed stem
momentarily stopped in flight .
This delicate bird ,
so glad to see the morning ,
sings it's little heart out ,
survived another night .

Later today I will visit Terence ,
although this time
he may not remember me .
I live in dread of what might be .
It only takes
the flick of a switch
to set the suffering free .
And resignation
that the time has come
to finally let things be .