Posted by Admin on 15 April 2008, 12:00 am
The wind athwart the marsh is cold,
despite the splendent sun;
reminder, chill as love’s reproach,
that Spring has not begun.
But something stirs within my breast,
most indefinably,
a yen revived for madcap days
when I could put to sea,
and plunge along that tidal-race
with Thorness on the lee;
inhale great draughts of brine-charged air,
of maid and master free;
a ten-ton cutter for my bride –
oh, that was ecstasy!
T. C. Hudson
© T. C. Hudson.
Village
Parish Council