26th April 2022
While it’s fast, now, the stretch of days,
The noon wind can still north
To a chill with an evening edge;
But all the while the August-strong sun
Which now thrifts the cliff banks pink
Well heats any pocket of calm.
So we who, bare-legged again,
Turn off the broadtrod path
To dusty down through kneescratch blackthorn
Can compass our littoral way
To souther latitudes
Than the chart inscripts.
© Christopher Jessop 2022
