28 FEBRUARY 1987, Page 35

Poem

On the mainland in May the ponticum blazed.

It seemed overdone after an island time when sea mist held the green blue yellow days, daffodils, grape hyacinths, froze that frame.

Warblers sang down the scale. And then we heard a dunnock at first light, its weak thin note quite tentative, as though it were first bird and wasn't sure what singing was: no rote spoilt it by habit. Daylight brought ringdoves, smoke-bathing on the chimneys. Their calling, fireplace-caught, that gentle sound above us, seemed peacefulness, amplified in falling.

Twenty years back. The kids, who've gone their ways,