We must pack our bags and go
To the limits that we know
And beyond, to virgin fields
Where those greener grasses grow.
Journey far and travel lightly,
with our weary steps made sprightly
By the distant prospect’s glow.
January 1992
Monthly Archives: January 2014
Shunting yards
Blackbirds and thrushes
On the frozen lawn,
The shunting yards are white.
At night the wagons
Clanged their messages
Along the lines,
I wonder when they sleep.
The lines run south
Through frozen fields,
My thoughts speed along
But cannot reach you.
Now the sun rises
Over the Devon hills
And black and white cows
Move out to pasture.
31st March 1973
I have a homing instinct for the stars 