I came at last to Lindisfarne
And walked the shore that Aidan trod,
And felt in rain and salty wind
The presence of his Celtic god.
What came we out to seek, to find?
What vestiges of youthful faith
To resurrect from grass and sand,
Upon the bleak Northumbrian heath?
Dear, gentle saint, whose Irish name
Means ‘Little Fire’, ignite in me,
Across the intervening years,
The furnace of your charity.
July 1993 with Judy and Lucy
On our way to Edinburgh
We must pack our bags and go
to the limits that we know
And beyond, to virgin fields
Where the greener grasses grow.
Journey far and travel lightly,
With our weary steps made sprightly
By the distant prospect’s glow.
1992
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
I have a homing instinct for the stars 
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