Full time writer, poet and owner of a private refuge for
abandoned dogs. Spent ten years at sea, travelling obscure
parts of our world, but never quite made it to the Far East.
There's a nightingale singing from a tree in the woods
And his voice slices through the chilly air;
The silver coated fox stops and listens to the song
As she pokes her pretty nose out of her lair.
Christ in a garden of roses -
Where beauty meets beauty
And Love meets the symbol of love;
Another place, another time
When the world was not possessed by man
And beast played but a minor part;
Evolution had not yet begun.
Dreams - dreams - dreams
Of faraway lands and faraway places,
Strange, foreign names and strange, foreign faces;
Dreams of the sea and dreams of the ocean