By Richard Wrightson
Date: 18 September 1997

Buffalo

O' hidden sun, how you mock me
Never to shine on my hurt heart again.
Now, teeming with grey, the sky ruefully
     taunts,
Laughing at my anguish with bitter
     mists,
Overcast horizons, chiding winds and
Falling sheets of stabing ice; the tears of
     love.