Et In Aracadia Ego Poem by Neil Crawford

You sit in the garden all afternoon
this drives me up the ivied wall.

I repair indoors to my keyboard
to tap out in the half light that I love

Romantic, idyllic, pastoral poems
about an England long faded from view.

This is the difference between we two,
you are in each miracle moment

while I can only watch the febrile seconds pass
on a merciless, slowing clock

recording their footprints
on a dust destined page.