Up a hill six years ago
A one-eyed Scot imagined a civil game
That pretended to an intuitive understanding
And an instant and appreciative friendship
He dressed it in irony to cover his tracks, then moved on
The game is over now and the players have long since departed
But the hillside remains
An incidental mist has descended over it
And the grass is wet to the touch
In the back of a car, I pass it