Poor hedgehog in the road squashed by a car,
What good to you was your hibernation?
Had you woken up but one day later
You might have lived to see the summer through.
But alas you were not destined to be
Another Mrs Tiggywinkle,
Hanging out washing till a ripe old age.
In the horse-drawn days of Beatrix,
Hedgehogs had greater life expectancy!
27th April 1971
Five to eight,
Mist outside,
The lighthouse
Foghorn blows
And day tries
To get up.
Airport closed,
Dead taxis
Wait in lines,
No Sunday
Newspapers,
Dull morning.
Black trees in
Grey meadows,
Still cows built
Into mist
Imitate
The foghorn,
Calling down
The Cowman
Wellingtoned,
Great mallet
On shoulder,
To alter
Their tethers.
15th April 1971
My sister’s name is Lucy
And she’s only four months old,
She coos and gurgles all day long
And is quite as good as gold.
Now I’m her grown up brother,
I’m nearly two you see,
In all our games, in all we do,
Lucy will follow me!
November 1971
I have a homing instinct for the stars 
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