To Jean from Julian
Not only a woman of beauty, loved and loving, but a spirit of immeasurable depth
A mother to me
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 not take anything for granted,
Earn all that you get and deserve.
Seeds will grow only when planted,
Your labour you must not reserve.
If I could take my childhood by the hand
And wander through the years,
And yet, what fears if I recount the tales
I am not a poet,
and I know it.
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.
When I was quite young
I thought that it would be fun
To be a little older.
Now that I am old,