Silver and ermine and red faces full of port wine.
I don't think I am any good. If I thought I was any good, I wouldn't be.
Now if the harvest is over, And the world cold, Give me the bonus of laughter, As I lose hold.
Childhood is measured out by sounds and smells and sights, before the dark hour of reason grows.
Too many people in the modern world view poetry as a luxury, not a necessity like petrol. But to me it's the oil of life.
People's backyards are much more interesting than their front gardens, and houses that back on to railways are public benefactors.