13 SEPTEMBER 1986, Page 32

Poem for an Anniversary Lakes — 1985

Thirteen years since I was gift- wrapped for you, swathed in fine white tissue like some delicate ornament for you to stroke and hold.

Dream-slowly, I waded through the folds for ritual words to drip their candle wax, to rise as incense. At the church door, winds ran to meet us with a shriek; daffodils bent to touch their slender toes - now our smiles are petrified in albums. Where our children trace the faces of young strangers, hand in hand, under winter trees.

Today we've left our house behind, painted like a daffodil, while we walk through this Wordsworthian space, where flowerheads are sleeved and blind and the voice of the air is the sound of water falling . . .

Shirley Bell