A quiet field beyond the church yard
sheep browse, there are pools in the grass.
Only a seasonal change since I last walked
this narrow path, the old dog placidly sauntering.
Now the young dog strains at the leash,
disproportion is greater.

The old dog matched my ageing steps
The young one outpaces me.
The churchyard signals mortality. A garden grave
has claimed the old dog. Shall we meet again
In renewed youth, in Aslan’s country,
somewhere, somehow?