The cooing of doves
In this humid heat of June
Reminds me of days with you.
The M25
Makes a circle round London
Beyond that are fields.
In a green valley
Near the home of Henry Moore
The river murmured.
We drove through a ford
With your mother and father
That still thrills me.
But not one of you
Can share that memory now
Dad went the first
How he loved the shed
In Henry Moore’s big garden
Full of shells and rocks
The shed’s clear window
Showed a sheep track up a hill
Green,now far away.
Little miracles
In his last stay in our home
National Garden Day.
He made me chuckle
As he wandered down ginnels
While Mother went,Tch.
We used to lose him
But usually he turned up
Until the last time.
They went to London
Then ate in Swan and Edgars
Stories to take home.
You were like he was
Funny,kind and wandering
Off the beaten track.
I knew I’d lose you.
But that made no difference
To my sorrowing.
Now I recall you
To save these sweet memories
And to answer me.
How will you cry out?
Would you send a ringed dove
To coo from my tree?
How my heart sings 