Please put my hair in bunches
With ribbons red and blue,
I’m going to a party
Which starts at half past two.
It’s my friend Anna’s birthday,
She’s nine years old today;
I’ll wrap her present nicely
And then be on my way.
I had a letter from her
Which said, “Please come to tea.“
We’ll play Let’s pass the parcel,
The winner may be me!
So tie my hair in bunches
With ribbons red and blue,
I’m off to Anna’s party
Which starts at half past two.
For Lucy, July 1980.
Will you be a drummer boy
When you’re big and handsome,
Will you play the fife and drum
As you march along?
Will you wear a soldier’s coat
When you’re big and handsome,
Scarlet jacket, buttons gold,
As you march along?
Will you whistle soldiers’ songs
When you’re big and handsome,
Will you fashion manhood’s dreams
As you march along?
May you tread the ways of peace
When you’re big and handsome,
Nothing harm and no one wrong
As you march along.
Far from you the threat of war
When you’re big and handsome,
A drummer boy and nothing more
As you march along.
June 1980
The path through the beech trees is frozen and white
And the forest lies covered in snow,
And I’m a great hunter with shotgun held tight
Which I carry wherever I go.
I’m not very frightened though the woods are so dark
And bears hide behind every tree,
The things I don’t like are the tracks in the snow
Which insist upon following me.
They are too big for squirrels and too small for lions
Or tigers, or wolf cubs or bear;
Though their shape is familiar and I’d know them again,
When I turn there is no creature there.
It’s a little alarming, even scaring I’d say,
For a clever young hunter like me
To know while I’m hunting alone in the woods
That some other beast’s hunting me.
I’ve spoken to Mummy, she says “It’s all right,
Don’t be frightened, don’t worry, there, there!”
But she doesn’t go hunting, doesn’t know what it’s like
To be followed by something out there.
And the strange thing I’ve noticed when hunting is done
And I trudge home again through the snow,
The tracks follow me homewards right up to my door,
Where they go after that I don’t know.
10 April 1975
I have a homing instinct for the stars 