Hair stands high on the cat's back like   A ridge of threatening hills   Sheepdogs howl, make tracks and growl   Their tails hanging low      And young children falter in their games   At the altar of life's hide-and-seek   Between tall pillars, where sunday-night killers   In grey raincoats peek      I'll be coming again like an old dog in pain   Blown through the eye of the hurricane   Down to the stones where old ghosts play      Misty colours unfold a backcloth cold   Fine tapestry of silk   I draw around me like a cloak   And soundless glide a-drifting      On eddies whirled in beech leaves furled   Brown and gold they fly   In the warm mesh of sunlight   Sifting now from a cloudless sky      I'll be coming again like an old dog in pain   Blown through the eye of the hurricane   Down to the stones where old ghosts play      Yes I'll be coming again like an old dog in pain   Blown through the eye of the hurricane   Down to the stones where old ghosts play