This year there is a
Splendid crop of cow parsley
In St Peter’s Valley.
I know you think it funny
That I should love this
Tall ungainly flower which
Grows head and leafy shoulders
Over scarlet campion
And ragged robin,
But its clouds of faded white
Are the saving grace
Of many a marshy field.
1968
I wish you had been
With me on the dunes today.
We would have rested
Among the white moss roses,
And watched the grasses flow
Before the warm wind
Like fields of ancient corn.
The sea hung misty
Between sky and blowing sand
And the larks were still.
12 June 1968
The shrill two note song
Of the skylark insisted
Spring had come early,
But I knew that the
Blue of the sea and the sky
were today’s only.
9 February 1968
I have a homing instinct for the stars 
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