Let me seduce you with the flowers of thyme,
The scent of woodbine and of rosemary.
Above our heads the climbing roses meet
And, on the summer air, their lures combine.
If, by excess, our hungry senses sin,
Arouse sweet passion and excite the mind
So, let us sin by smell and, with each waft,
The very essence of the gods breathe in.
2001 – The roses were wonderful, especially Seagull and Albertine.
I came at last to Lindisfarne
And walked the shore that Aidan trod,
And felt in rain and salty wind
The presence of his Celtic god.
What came we out to seek, to find?
What vestiges of youthful faith
To resurrect from grass and sand,
Upon the bleak Northumbrian heath?
Dear, gentle saint, whose Irish name
Means ‘Little Fire’, ignite in me,
Across the intervening years,
The furnace of your charity.
July 1993 with Judy and Lucy
On our way to Edinburgh
We must pack our bags and go
to the limits that we know
And beyond, to virgin fields
Where the greener grasses grow.
Journey far and travel lightly,
With our weary steps made sprightly
By the distant prospect’s glow.
1992
I have a homing instinct for the stars 
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