At last the wind fades away.
In the clear night sky
Stars send their message
From the past.
Through the stillness,
The roar and thunder
Of waves breaking on the reef.
Protection from the turmoil
Of the outside world.

Waves break ceaselessly
On the beach while we try to
Fix our past mistakes.

Clear sky at night. Stars
And moon light the camp. No breeze
To disturb the frost.

At the coldest hour,
Shivering inside, we wait
For the sun's warm light.

Winter rains. Winter
Sun. Mile after mile wheat fields
Sprout fluorescent green.

You had given up by the 1970s,
Just as I realised the 'art'
in accountancy is to reveal the beauty
in the numbers; and later,
writing contracts for a living,
that 'art' is in the beauty of the words.
Thank you for your verse:
Poetry is in everything,
including business documents,
that captures our imagination.

The past is not what we thought
It was at the time. It is
What we now wish it to be.
It must be thus
If we are to change
Our future.

You know things are past
When they are put in a museum.
Thus the lived present passes
Into history and the architecture
Of the museum declares
The future to the excited
Children who cavort and shout,
Racing from exhibit to exhibit.