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
My Daddy is a teacher
From nine till half past three,
And Mummy works all day and night
Just doing things for me.
When Mummy’s work is finished,
(She says she’s never done)
They put me in their little car
To take me for a run.
I have a bright red bucket
Which Mummy bought for me,
And a little pale blue plastic spade
For digging by the sea.
We go down to the seaside
And find a sheltered space,
They doze or read, I make sand pies
Or crawl about the place.
While Daddy talks to Mummy
I fill my mouth with sand,
And then I climb all over them
With more in either hand.
They’re very patient with me,
I really can’t complain,
So when they’ve brushed the sand all off
I do it once again.
At last the sun is setting
And a calm falls on the sea,
And both of them seem very glad
When a calm descends on me.
I take my little plastic spade,
I clutch my bucket red,
And Daddy puts me on his back
And takes me home to bed.
For Helier 2nd April 1971
The girl who smells of roses plays her flute
Beside her window open on the night.
From shadows and disorder in her room,
The measured notes of Bach’s partitas flow
And fall about me in the dusk beneath.
From hidden branches in the copper-beech,
The day’s last blackbird sings in counterpoint.
How still the twilight when the blackbird calls!
How still the garden where her music falls!
Given to Lucy for her 18th birthday, 1 August 1989
I have a homing instinct for the stars 
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