Visibility Poor

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

Away, away

The geraniums are in
And the logs are piled high,
The chestnuts are gathered
And across the grey sky
The wild ducks are flying
Away, away,
We’ll come back in springtime,
Some day, some day!

The geraniums are in

The geraniums are in
And the logs are piled high,
The chestnuts are gathered
And across the grey sky
The wild ducks are flying
Away, away,
We’ll come back in Springtime,
Some day, some day!

1987

Late Autumn

In corners where no willows grow
I rake up willow leaves and know
The winds are set for winter.
Oh, The frenzy of their final blow
Before the stillness of the snow!

18 November 1991

Fir Trees

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”