Wednesday, 18 January 2012

Downhill Race

Having gained the top
of the sheep-cropped hill
we paused

to rest in the bracken
and we gazed at the ocean

and then I got to thinking
of God
and creation

a dig in the ribs
from my brother
fetched me round

now up and away
the sentence trailing behind him
let's run like hell to the bottom

o we did laugh
as we ran
tripping over our feet

stumbling and tumbling
we arrived
on the beach

we fell on the sands
and laughed even more
each to each

holding our ribs
which were aching
and sore

o we did laugh
on the beach
each to each

it mattered not
who was first
to that place

pure joy
was the winner
of our downhill race



  1. What a great tumbling pace to the foot of this poem, Gwilym!

  2. Hi ho, the foot of the poem. That's good.


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