The Poet

  i.m. Andrew Waterhouse

He called the tune.
Around the rocks
the water mocked.

He had to cross
to find a place
of moss and rest.

Each careful stone
he stepped upon
became a bone.

Here he fell.
The stones can tell.
He laid them well.

Helena Nelson

If you've any comments on this poem, Helena Nelson would be pleased to hear from you.

There are online obituaries of Andrew Waterhouse from Rialto magazine and from the Guardian newspaper.

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