The Walk Andrew Downes

You did not walk with me
Of late to the hill-top tree
By the gated ways
As in earlier days;
You were weak and lame
So you never came
And I went alone, and I did not mind
Not thinking of you as left behind

I walked up there to-day
Just in the former way;
Surveyed around
The familiar ground
By myself again:
What difference, then?
Only that underlying sense
Of the look of a room on returning thence