She was Welsh as Snowdon's snowy peak
bright voice light as butterfly
never still, dancing through our conversation
turning the afternoon into a rush of delights
...
Hoardings shouting at the street,
those in buses reading as they pass
of perfume, razor blades and Guinness,
selling space and advertising
...
So calm the river
No rain since Mothers' Day,
Willow twigs in flower vases
Grand children and their daffodils.
...
In the hollow by the course
She, with me and Joff
late one Saturday evening,
The day had been a success
...
Can you hear the rumbles
daffodils and cowslips
stirring in the grass?
worms and beetles feel the heat
...
The wild Cyclamen
Nestling in the grass
Their marbled leaves
Will stay for summer
...
Do not wake the lily
dawn not yet begun,
she lies sleeping
in her bed of green,
...
Last night's snow melted from the roads
dawdled in the wood hiding from the sun
losing every minute despite the cold.
rabbits scamper through brittle ferns
...
Friday night, the town is quiet
pretty girls with ivory thighs
precarious on their heels,
tread their way to 'Whispers'
...
Does the rose beside the green front door
bloom as when I was youth.
Does the gate clash against the post
the spring that gave us rides
...