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The Little Church at Ebony
Daffodils at Sissinghurst
Fairfield Church
The River Rother
Romney Marsh
Smugglers of the Marsh
Dungeness
Winchelsea Beach
The Daffodil Church
Romney Marsh
It may at first seem
Quite remote -
Soundless. Colourless,
Like some half-forgotten dream.
Desolate. Shadowless,
Save for those
Of the ancient blackthorn -
Stunted. Leafless,
They are tossed and torn
By the cold, salt-laden winds.
But this enchanted Marsh,
According to the season,
Has many a different mood.
Only beneath a winter’s sun,
Is it hostile, subdued.
For a thousand years or more
The sea has been driven away -
To reveal this vast and lonely land
Of varied hues. Brown and gold.
Edged by ridges of sea-washed sand.
Withered grass. Ragged weeds,
They cannot help but sway
In the winds, bleak and cold.
I watch the sullen skies
In the water. Resting,
Dullest leaden-grey and deep.
I hear the calling
Of the sea-birds, circling
Amidst the grazing sheep.
Echoes of loneliness
In song. Cries to break the stillness,
Carried swiftly along
By the cold, salt-laden winds.
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