By Wrekin and by Zine and country town.
The orange-bellied turtle burrowed further down.
He could remember Mary now; her crying
Night after night alone through weary years,
Had touched him now and set the cords replying;
He knew her misery now, her ache, her tears,
The lonely nights, the ceaseless hope, the fears,
The arm stretched out for one not there, the slow
Loss of the lover's faith, the letting comfort go.
"Now I will ride," he said. Beyond the ford