Beachy Head—A Spring Evening

 The women decided that we must go,

Packing our evening tea,
To the lawns at the head of the cliffs,
To a view of the lighthouse.

Along the edge of the crumbling chalk,
Lawn thatched walls that barred Caesar,
Pagan hues of spring on football-painted boys,
And with mysteries elevated, the girls met in vesper fresh dresses.
Those with thoughts just for one walked, hands-joined
To the head of the cliffs
“For a view of the lighthouse.”

With sandwiches, biscuits and tea
The young men and women
Sat talking with passionless curiosity
Of the ones who come without tea, without a friend,
Shrouding themselves in mists of grief
To the head of the cliffs, who stepped from the living
Losing a view of the lighthouse.

Evening burned hard the once blue sky,
Embracing light stretched out from the day.
We sat about on the brilliant green,
Lazily bathed by touches of warm sea wind,
On the lawns of the cliffs,
In view of the lighthouse.

Steve Taunton