Foreland Point

With sullen grandeur, a melted, frozen arm
Of out-stretched land rests coldly, tearfully,
Embraced by the cool, caressing, kissing sea
And revelling in its elemental charm;
The dextrous, agile fingers of the breeze
Dance unseen among the tawny-green
Of wild grass, whose sleeve surrounds this lean
Peninsula - statically at ease
Among the gnawing waves. I saw a boat
Drifting far below beyond the rocks;
I glanced above, and watched the soaring flocks
Row with rhythmic wings, then calmly float
Atop the sky’s white-water, gracefully
Sweeping down where Exmoor meets the sea.

by David Lewiston Sharpe

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