How do I start to tell the story?
The pale stars? The sky's dim glow?
The clouds that gathered silently above Bookbinder Road?

& the roses in the garden watched when the moment froze
As the door to that summer closed

Where do I continue? With the fullness of the moon?
Or the air that smelled of apples and [bad word] soon?

Stood on the empty pavement where seagulls dove and rose
As the door to that summer closed

Finally we settle with the view from a quiet room
And we end the story with the garden still in bloom