I cannot remember a time when I did not write poetry. I can remember finding this in my daughter's book when she was 7:-
'It is snowing, it is glistening,
It is time for Jesus' christening'
and thinking 'chip off the old block!'.
There will be poems from other sources too,all acknowledged.
On Visiting His Grave: 1996,summer:Six Years On
I do not come to meet you:
I know you are not here:
Nor do I come to tell you how things go,
Somehow, I hope you know.
I tend this space because my aching heart
Still seeks to play some part:
The faithful wife
In death, as once in life:
Fussing with flowers before I go my way
When we were oh, so young and gay,
I'd brush your shoulders and adjust your tie,
Setting you straight before we kissed goodbye.