Sitting peacefully in the spring sunshine

Up from the packhorse bridge at Wycoller

I watch a couple come over with their dogs.

Two were content to snap around their heels

The third, a golden haired setter made for me

At a run, tail down, a friendly approach,

It nuzzled me as I stroked its fine head. 

His large liquid dark eyes said I’m sorry;

Obviously he could smell my hidden disease.

 I smiled, thanking him for his sympathy.

 His owner called, reluctantly he trotted off

 Leaving me to enjoy the peace and beauty.

                                                                By John Howarth 

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