A wild wild wind
And a blue blue sky
A pair of denim jeans
On the washing line to dry
Birds that soar
On thermals in June
And birds in February
Which seem to have more room
A surf that roars
As if to cause wonder for all
Coir matting at my feet
With bets open to call
That I might ever
Make anything much
Yet to think of Kavanagh’s comma
Before the word such
And how some choose to use it
While others skip gladly on by
And which is the real way anyway
And does it really at all matter why
