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