The lowering sun bid a sad farewell,
Reluctantly slipping behind a band of grey that sat upon the winter horizon,
Wrapped against the late afternoon chill,
He fooled himself,
Pretended that the tears were a watering,
A result of the whipping wind against his face,
But tears they were,
Real and sad,
Lonely droplets wiped away by a gloved hand.
The wide view,
Across the field was different,
No longer shared as he leaned in isolation,
Recalling the warmth of fond memories,
Memories at the five bar gate.
* The Five Bar Gate Series *
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