wispy clouds stroll across a summer sky
as we pass Quiet Street and Old Bond Street
and saunter past quaint Lilliput Court.
Many times I have paused to admire
the massive plane tree in the courtyard.
It has witnessed generations come and go
whose tears and smiles vanished long ago.
We would often relax in its cool shade
but not now; dreamy days are in the past
yet even this mighty tree will fall one day.
My eyes scan the park where a giant open book
proclaims, "Oh! who can ever be tired of Bath?"
But we do not wander by Austen's river
and I envy tourists with thoughts benign
as I approach with dread the railway line.
We walk under a rainbow of umbrellas:
a magical arch by Bath railway station,
umbrellas also above St Lawrence Street
competing with vibrant flowers weaved
on the old-fashioned red telephone kiosk.
But I'll recall all these views with rue,
it's the last walk, the saddest one of all,
yes, even the massive plane tree will fall.