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