soars the boy in his full sap
(on kilvey hill above swansea bay)
soaring higher than the windmilled hill
sky larked up and high and blue eyed
above the fork-tongued piers
docked upon the sea of his morning
flowing along the sun-arced bay
dazzling away on this hazy day
heather bees nit-comb dusted
pouring over the warm rocks
lizard-lichened the low fallen walls
and so it turns this boy’s day
young and rising and bursting
just this one time of his life
it goes running of his full sap
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