Surprising what the seaons throw up - from deep in the subconscious 1960's

South Star

The leaves are falling on Griffith Avenue

They lie there

Inches deep along the Pavement

Just crying

To be walked through.

I have no mind for shuffling in them

Any more.

Besides, I’m not even sure

If they would welcome me.

They seem to wait for you.

I watch the stars.

Finding The Plough

I trace the North Star

Then turning from it, face towards you

Even if you never see me.

Someday, I pray,

I’ll find a South Star.

And then,

I’ll never have to turn my back again

To find you.