Is that a white cat sat in the window?
Or just a vase, tubby, there, silently?
A white cat watching pigeons come and go?
A two-eared pot that’s made from English clay?
...
My love is a star in a far-off galaxy –
U D F Y 4O8 double 3.
I know of her only through Hubble, you see.
In all outer space she has not noticed me.
...
The winter wheat has fallen in the field;
Its tender sprigs lie sundered on the clay.
The rain that bores in streams through line and line,
Has sluiced its precious life away.
...
The Far House (Or ‘perhaps I Should Get Out More? ’)
Is that a white cat sat in the window?
Or just a vase, tubby, there, silently?
A white cat watching pigeons come and go?
A two-eared pot that’s made from English clay?
How I regret the days my eyes were keen!
Watching for the thing to move along the sill,
Relaxing with my cup of China tea;
Even for a cat it seems so very still;
For a vase – it seems to move, for me.
And quite the strangest thing I've ever seen.