for Elise Oliver
If, when I grow even older than I am
now and were, perhaps, too old to make poems,
I would become a sower of wildflowers.
Each year, I would begin with the Narrows,
an ancient path where our street ends –
where children are walked to school, commuters
walk to work, and revellers sway home
caterwauling. Each spring and summer
in the unkempt verges there would be the sight
and scent of Bird’s-foot Trefoil,
ECO-WARRIOR
THE BROKEN BRANCH
A CHORUS OF ZITHERS
HOME TIME
IN PRAISE OF THE WORLD WIDE WEB