On the outside 

he seemed older than he was. 

His face was like a weather map 

full of bad weather 

while inside 

his heart was fat with sun.

With his two dogs 

he cleared a thin silver path 

across the Black Mountain. 

And when winter 

kicked in

they brought his sheep 

down from the top 

like sulky clouds.

Harry didn’t care for things 

that other people prize 

like money, houses, bank accounts 

and lies. 

He was living in a caravan 

until the day he died.

But at his funeral 

his friends’ tears 

fell like a thousand 

Diamonds.

Lindsay Macrae