She tells me there’s no point without the view.
What to do?
For the clouds have come down round the hills,
With misty chills.
The Severn but a rumour, lost to sight
From this height.
No drama on the Cotswold Way she’ll find.
Why even bother walking down this path?
She steps away to follow the track
A trudging form in a plastic mac,
She goes the way from whence I came
One path, but journeys not the same.
I saw the hillside, saw the mist,
The trees by early autumn kissed.
I heard the rain on dancing leaves
The song the wind in branches weaves.
I heard the barn owl and the crow
I noticed where the toadstools grow.
Where colours shine through drizzle’s grey
And joyful dogs come out to play.
I walked my path with cheerful heart
She would not walk it, will depart.
For what’s the point, without a view?
The walk’s a pointless thing to do.
Two women parted in a wood.
Both took the road most travelled by,
For that was not the difference.