The first time I asked him about Morrion Down;

He bade me to be still and not to mention it again.

The second time he repeated the first command;

And said that I would do well to heed and meditate upon it.

The third instance took place during a stroll through Newclarion Park;

But that did not stop a bark and glare of flame and pain within those azure eyes.

Whilst the fourth may as well have been a bark and a bite;

Were it not for the audience at the tables of the Inn.

Widest was the interval between the Fourth and the Fifth.

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Yet still the question bubbled all through the morn of the escarpment walk;

With wide fields, distant copses;

Aerial vapour vessels and a sapphire firmament.

"Four times I have asked and all four you have refused;

What lies behind Morrion Down?"

The bark did not come. Nor the unfinished bite.

But a spread of arms and a sigh akin to the surrender of an ice shelf.

"This was; Is;

And will always be:

Marianne-Morrion-Mirriendal Down:

Birth of a Song;

Never far from my present;

And always, Always,

Un-blurred by memory."