The traveller has regrets

For the receding shore

That with its many nets

Has caught, not to restore,

The white lights in the bay,

The blue lights on the hill,

Though night with many stars

May travel with him still,

But night has nought to say,

Only a colour and shape

Changing like cloth shaking,

A dancer with a cape

Whose dance is heart-breaking,

Night with its many stars

Can warn travellers

There's only time to kill

And nothing much to say:

But the blue lights on the hill,

The white lights in the bay

Told us the meal was laid

And that the bed was made

And that we could not stay.

 G. S. Fraser

1915 - 1980