THE BLACK FLYER DESCENDING
Now it is a lost world
Where I look, a dark bridge
Bridles a slimmering beautiful grey
Stream, spattered in rain
Into whitish glimmers of glancing drop.
I can no more walk there
In case the sun goes in without
You there, and the speckled lights
In the greyness seem to swarm
Too bright for the dark day.
Poem By Tim Cloudsley
Painting "The Black Flyer Descending"
By Ken Palmer