Each morning as I walk to work

I watch the mighty river

Flowing towards the sea

 

What do I hope for

What do I cherish

A small finch sings

 

These are mysterious words

Beyond my immediate understanding

I know nothing of the souls of birds

 

I was born in a house

An ordinary blue house

That backed on to the sea

 

It was there that I grew up

Happy in the knowledge

Of its vast brightness

 

I am involved in the movement

Of churches a rare occupation

That is rarely discussed

 

But even these beautiful houses of peace

Have problems such as poor foundations

And the erosion of coastal standings

 

I like to think that I am a poet

A deep thinker committed to thought

But when I am not writing I am not a poet

 

A poster in a shop window pleases me

It reveals a low boat in a low lake at night

With only a pink lantern for illumination