The morning rise, a comer by the line
Cold-blowing wind swallowing my soul
Now laid before my eyes a rich town
Another day to bewitch myself within

A stroll amongst the klinkered path
To my sides sits the life of the past
Ongoing upholds into the hereafter
Sixty, the worst for the walkers of man

Elders and young kin aboard two-wheelers
Talks of an outlandish yet near tongue
Thoughts of blithe and brooding waters
Of the clean and the wicked

There lies a bench against the kirk
Warmth of the sun overlooking me
The fowls tweet a lovely speech
The kirk bell rings a bliss wonder

Two young sisters onlooking the waterway
They take heed to my being and greet me
Hoi meneer and a small wave towards my being
Holding hands goes on the day, learning to love