No furniture, creaking floors, carpets gone.
In the shed, the sleeping bag
we had made love in those days,
before mortgage and loans.

In the house I cradled the bag in my arms
and swayed to our tune
remembering days
when we knew
that no one had ever loved like us.

Later she rang
gave me her phone number
in case I wanted to ring back
and talk sense;
before ringing off, she called me a callous jerk.

Walked through the night
and into a clear cold morning amongst rolling hills,
in a land green and I cried no more.