Here is an unpretentious poet who can swat a wasp with a copy of Four Quartets. These sonnets encapsulate with gentle good humour the reflections of a 'man of middle years'. I laughed, I cried, but most of all I felt glad to be alive.
My patch is there amongst the other plots,
Where I prune and trim in daylight hours,
Foster tender plants in greenhouse pots,
And grow alternate rows of herbs and flowers.
Though twelve lines and a couplet may seem tame,
Words still thrust through and bloom, I find, the same.
From Sonnet 3