What if I should tire of D?
Or Death should tire of me?
It seems so long,
Should things go wrong,
To spend eternity.

How long will I be with Death?
Or will he stay with me?
When we’ve taken mark
Of the light and dark
He may abandon me.

Dear Friend,
Today I turned.
I turned off the wake up crow of the radio announcer.
I turned pale at the arrival of the day.
I turned over and tried to go back to sleep.
I turned green at the hopes of those half my age.
I turned red with anger - or frustration - at the
               Seas still to cross,
               Mountains still to climb,
               Ideas still to pursue.
I turned and looked at my children - and was proud.
I turned back the sheets.
I turned out of bed.
I turned into an elephant carried three bundles of giggles out the door.
I turned into the kitchen and a bundle fell off - still giggling.
I turned into someone's father, but only for a moment, then we were friends again.
I turned up the heat in the griller and the toast darkened and dried out more quickly.
I turned for the milk and there was none left.
I turned into a street I'd never travelled before.
I turned off when I heard it was Joh Bjelke-Petersen's birthday.
I returned.
I turned into someone's friend and was still her father.
I turned thirty.

In winter shadows he saw her
She knew that he would wait for her.
That night he might have let her slip away,
He held and hoped love would follow.

Their love was but a mystery,
A sweetly woven tapestry,
They gave themselves as only lovers may,
She wanted their lives to follow.

Like a swelling stream their love grew
They found a bridge where they knew
That all would fall if they just walked away
Where she went he knew he’d follow

One night without their knowing
The river took what had been theirs
But they found a way of showing
Love is won
By those ones who dare.

Friendships were tested and broken
Hard angry words were spoken
They knew that through it all they’d find a way
And some day others may follow.

In my sleep I have dreamt
That we walked together
On a warmed winter beach
The way we never did.

In my sleep, when we talked,
I heard you speak to me
The way you always did
And as I never could.

Then you rested your head
Gently on my shoulder
So your hair brushed my cheek
The way it never has.

I woke sadly and knew
I had wasted a dream.

There is a silence - a serenity -

Even the dust that hangs - loose in the air -
Is still and undisturbed.
The distant sound of the mother
Remains part of another world -
Beyond thin, hard walls.

Scene into scene -
Feather-flecked memories
Echoing and fusing
To echo again.

Warmth rises - gently -
With a rich smell of earth
From the pregnant swell of the ground.

Fold after fold
Feather-filled clouds
Following the eddies
To a grotto

Delight rises - gently -
With the delicate lifting of the eggs
From the nestling swell off the ground.

Motionless
Emotionless
At peace
The child sleeps.
The pillows are packed
Around her.