Oh, what a lovely thing to see,
A magpie in a snowy tree!
Oh, what a lovely thing to smell,
Violets in a mossy dell!
Oh, what a lovely thing to hear,
The sound of church bells loud and clear!
Oh, what a lovely thing to say,
I love you more each passing day!
Before the sun is up, a blackbird sings
High in the branches of the winter oak.
The day begins in song, so may it end!
And all your waking hours be filled with joy!
February 1990
(Bordered to the south by fields of green maize)
The dawn is still.
No trembling leaf
Betrays the trace
Of passing breeze.
Each blade of maize
In the great field
Before the house
Awaits the sun.
I have a homing instinct for the stars 
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