Some people told me
‘ The man does not know’.
” Do you know, Mr Tourist?”
they said.

So I told them
‘I’m just an Englishman,
trying to find my way home’.
Remembering, how far
I have come.

A butterfly of unknowing.
Darkening mountains
around me.
And the door to the past,
still open.

I call the dead, each day.
No matter how you
look at it.
And fall in love, with
the anger and anguish of Plath.
To deal with the present.

We were indebted
to each other.
A lesson, part history
part philosophy- whilst
drinking black lemon tea.
And went our separate ways.