the old coast road

and there were many buildings and temples
and who is to say which is false and which true
so I kept going along the old coast road
in the hope that I may find a way through

for once more would I visit my father’s garden
and stand among the olives and the vines
even though I am old and weary
what is his is surely mine

so I keep going
where there are many paths down to the sea

for along this old coast road
there is one
that may be recognised by me

upon taking a walk in the sun

you were born on a beautiful spring morning
in the shadow of the mountain side
although it could have been any time of year
and in quite another clime

now it all floods back on you
just where you are truly from
returning like the long lost lover
upon taking a walk in the sun

all upon a bright spring morning
as into your garden you are come
life is but a single moment
taking a walk in the sun

wild roses

wild roses grew on the border
but pretty soon after died
I moved into the Albany
and sat up every night
there is a window on the soul
if we have a soul at all
there is a phone here by the bed
but I never make a call
there is a wind and there is a wood
and there is a darkening way
there is a phone here by the bed
but I wouldn’t know what to say
from a room here at the Albany
and a window on the soul
I love a quiet garden
where wild roses grow
no one has an answer
no one has a key
wild roses on the border
no longer bloom for me

only at dusk

the garden slopes down
towards the brook

and the little wooden bridge
to the summerhouse

where at dusk they met
and found acceptance

only at dusk

before supper
a hand of cards

turning in

at dusk
they found their

gradient
there all that time

but obvious
only in the half light

grail

in the old days
I used to heal life’s little ills
by imagining a secluded garden
where I took restorative waters
from an old brass cup

these days
I’m at the Chelsea Flower Show
drinking from a golden chalice