25 JULY 1992, Page 30

Let It

A morning like this in your face, Winter gone, winter with a last kick, Dare me or go back by the fire, Wind pinning back feathergrass for The sun to rape it, cumulus voyaging The weathercock, roof lichen getting Richer by the minute, hawk surfing in nothing, Stag beetle clutching for a hold, shutters Banging, grass racing raced up the valley, A morning like this best of all is go Childhood daft, run and shout back at it, Sail under bare poles up the sea valley, be Oakbranch fronting it, see yourself primary, washed Like a brook, nothing left of night but Drops swaying in thorn hangers, throwing back All colours the sun is made of.

Brian Waltham