Long Way Back
Ashness Bridge to Derwentwater’s edge –
the four of us in noisy green cagoules.
You lead us crablike from the streaming ridge –
push through bracken, down towards the queue
dripping on the jetty. When’s it due?
a voice says. It’s familiar. It is mine.
You won’t take the launch. You never do
but set off back along the path again.

I don’t turn  to watch, or think to wave.

Rachel Curzon

If you have any comments on this poem, Rachel Curzon would be pleased to hear them.

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