In private collection
When I lope along those country lanes
I shall think of ’ee - aye, I shall,
Sudden bluebells blast my eyes
And the imperial yew tree,
For a wee hopping sparrow
I stop. And blink.
Aye, maybe I was one who used to notice such things too.
One who used to notice such things?
Aye, suits me well,
Ah! Sentiment o’ bliss!
Yet in a blink,
’Tis sad to muse much we missed.
Down. Down those country lanes
I reign and sigh,
I was never so high
As when I used to notice such things.
Hardy is in his Heaven
And all is right with the world.
I’ll Love Thee
I’ll love thee in thy springtime blush of youth,
Or when Life passes autumn shades of gold
And russet-red - too soon have turned to grey
Those happy days. I’ll love thee of a truth,
Aye, keep thee close as when I once did hold
Thee in my arms - so soon have blown away
Those days like leaves.
Yet ’ere remains thy love for me
To blossom, dear,
As will my love for thee. 
Last last chance to erase
The nauseating sweetness of Life.
To crush the pain
And slip like soft velvet
Out of here.
And into a magic dreamland
Of crystal sparkling chandeliers
Soft honey waves of pleasure, my dear.
But pain stabs back
To the heart
To the soul
Like hot needles under the skin
Much like Life.