Along the sunken lanes I wheel my feet:
chilblained and blistered in two pairs of socks;
and cheese and bread is all I have to eat.
My way is crossed by a lip-licking fox,
who knows the lanes like the back of his paws
and vanishes as deftly as he came.
The crows are individual as their caws,
for nothing that I meet appears the same.
There isn't time in life to right my wrongs.
Along the sunken lanes I whistle songs.