Leaving London

Flying through the clouds
   In the pristine blue sky
Over Portugal
I see a quaint village
Of red tiled roofs
   Surrounded by a vast plain
And in the distance beyond
   Low-slung mountains
A lake, a train
   The border of Spain
A river, like me
   That flows on, longing
For the sea
   And she was back in London
In a beautiful fog of melancholy
   And I knew that I would
Never see her again.