Quarter to seven
Unable to tell you
The colour of these socks
That almost match my shirt
Summer shades, ideal
For the seaside
Less so for the black
Horizon and brown waves
Ample space here
For a beach hut
To let, or hire
Or take freehold
Early morning greetings
I call them promenader's
Flaneur's, or wistful folk
Who whistle on the prom
