My Laryngectomee club had Sunday lunch at a famous riverside inn, called "The Tickled Trout" at the village of Wye in Kent, and as I looked over the very old stone bridge at the water flowing below, memories came flooding back, so I composed this poem

I often come to this quiet place,
where always together we were seen.
Looking down to see your face,
mirrored in the waters sheen.

Lovely lies this Kent in summer,
flower adorned, all washed with sun,
loveliness in every corner,
until at last, our summers done.

Below me there, the waters stream,
waving fronds, all just at me,
saying goodbye, this summers dream,
your youthful face drifts by, so free.

Often have I wandered lonely,
hoping that I see you pass,
but sadly it is strangers only,
my tears fall lonely, on the grass.

I now sit quite alone for hours,
just looking at the view.
but the stream, the hill, the flowers,
are so different without you.