She was but a presence
In the panoply of flickering time,
Now viewed these many years on,
A lover, like Philippa, of horses,
And in her case,
Men and children, animals and plants,
Especially cacti,
Mainly broad-leaved kinds,
Spouting a fanfare of outrageous
Crimson blooms.
In her youth,
She rode across the wilds of Dartmoor
Sometimes in pursuit of the fox,
Uphill and down dale,
Past towering, lonesome tors,
Searching, ever searching
For adventure.
She herself was a brave soul
And, as with all such souls,
Found solace in loneliness…
Until one day she met her soul mate,
A loner too,
A wanderer of the unfriendly seas,
And they settled down
To produce a family,
Five strong,
And fulfil their destiny
As once written in the stars
Perhaps, and on their palms,
Or so they believed.
