I have autumned in Eden too long.
Every year at this candled hour,
Years fall away as a forest of leaves.
I scour Blackburn streets,
Terrace rows and factory bottoms,
For prophecies and portents,
Rolling, broken steep-sided hills,
Heart-shaped forsaken hills
Where I wrought empires in your name,
Compelled by the season’s majesty.
These years, I ploughed the acres of your dreams,
Are a wasteland, like the dereliction of my youth,
The rust-seized wheels of industry smashed.
Like a guiding star or lost horizon,
You are unattainable, an exiled spirit.
You have autumned in Eden too long.