Before the Dark

The summer ran its course in days too bright,
too sunny and too moist – it turned me on,
with none to touch me in the sweaty night,
your passion and your fire for me long gone.

The bitter berries blackened on the bough
and in the fields the maize has turned to mould.
There is no way that I can reach you now
we don’t believe the stories we once told.

Let's pile up logs to make the fire go -
The fog is on the grass, the air is cold…
Let's close the doors and let the east wind blow,
and huddle close, pretending we’re not old.