The Hard

Trying to find somewhere to eat, I walk

Down faceless sixties streets, past office blocks

And civic sites, depression setting in

With every step, until I come upon

Some trees leaning towards the rising sun

Moulded by the wind from out the channel

Terns casting themeselves upon the breeze

To float and skim on currants I can't see

But blustering round me, buffeting my nose

With rotting seaweed, hanging on the stumps

Of sea defences stranded by the tide,

As storm clouds cluster off the Isle of Wight.

          Still nowhere to eat, but by the bay

          The Channel winds have blown my blues away.

Brian Hick at Southampton 

©copyright Sally Hick 14.10.22