How can I describe, my beloved one,
The mountain’s glory in the morning sun?
How can I tell you of the silent glade
In the snowy depths of the forest shade?
And how shall I capture for you the spell
Of the crystal showers in the frozen dell?
Schloss Kassegg.
February 1985
I come each year to where my father lies
And read again the polished granite stone,
Which tells me that he died on such a date,
At such an age and may he Rest in Peace.
The formula is bare, so much unsaid,
And with each year becomes more indistinct
As images I hold become concealed
Behind eroding lichens of the mind.
August 1985
Pines stood like these
Along the windy ridge
Where we so often walked
And much in love
Discussed a time to wed.
Beneath the trees
On those October days
So distant now
Our plans much favoured Spring
Until we said,
As of one heart and mind,
Why wait till then?
At Christmas let it be!
And so it was!
17 May 1985
On seeing a drawing by John Constable “Fir Trees at Hampstead, 1820”
I have a homing instinct for the stars 