It is a winding path

It is a winding path

Wending through the coarse

Moorland grass

Snagging a saggy woollen

Sleeve

On wild gorse

A rustic tumble

Of a stumble

Among the sedge

To rest briefly

Supine on the edge

Breathless

From searching

Restless to get on

Looking for the path

You took

Hoping to find a clue

Something

Anything

That would bring me

Back to you

Waking after a while

In the bedroom

Early morning gloom

Filtered through

The blackout curtain

One thing is certain

Life is but a dream

No more real

Than the deception

Of perception

And if I am lucky

One day

When the cock crows

I will wake up.