To Jean from Julian
Not only a woman of beauty, loved and loving, but a spirit of immeasurable depth
A mother to me
Do not take anything for granted,
Earn all that you get and deserve.
Seeds will grow only when planted,
Your labour you must not reserve.
Being 8 is really great.
Perhaps I can stay up late?
Will all my presents come in a crate?
And can the postman get through the gate?
Do you remember when we stood in a wood,
The bluebells clustered sweet about our feet,
The branches of the trees above and our love?
He waits for no man does Father Time.
So in haste I wrote this little rhyme.
There are some thing that I know quite well,
Enough I hope to save from Hell.