Come under the cherry tree with me
To rest within its moving pools of shade
And listen to the passing summer wind
High in the leaves.
Nearby, within her cot,
The baby sleeps, dreaming of lives unlived
And faces not yet seen. Hers is the time
Of total innocence, of rosebud promise
And of quiet content. Yours is the time,
When after fears and pain, come flooding joy
And peace and renewed motherhood.
14th August 1976
My favourite spot in the garden
Is where the strawberries grow,
Where the marguerites hang overhead
And the hungry blackbirds go.
There in the early morning,
When the grass is wet with dew,
I join the hungry blackbirds
And eat the strawberries too.
For Bessie – June 1980
Granny bought me a lavender bag
Of pink with a white silk bow.
I lost my precious lavender bag
And they hunted high and low,
In every room, beneath the chairs,
Behind the pot plants on the stairs.
Among the slippers, shoes and toys,
Beneath the settle in the hall,
Between the books on every shelf,
Inside the clock against the wall,
In each dark corner, pink and round
My muslin bag could not be found.
They searched all day and half the night
And still they looked in vain,
On every path around the house
And up and down the lane,
Behind the hedge, along the track,
Among the flowerpots in the back.
The days went by, the bag was lost
And no more called to mind,
But then by chance in a tiny drawer,
My treasure did I find.
The joy they felt was clear to see,
But happiest of all was me!
For Bess
I have a homing instinct for the stars 
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