I could look out on Plymouth Sound
Take in the view
From the tip tip-top of Dartmoor
I could look out from Batley's high spots
Across to who knows where on the Pennines
Before the downhill, to the very depths of the valley
And of these views, these views of far and further
I could become romantic
Or, perhaps stay safe, be entirely matter of fact
The variety club is there no more
The breakwater is silent to my offerings
Weather worn granite more than one dream away
Is all indeed more distant
Beyond the outlook, beyond
Instead to gaze through the nearest window
In this the month of June
In this the later of the later days
Where the desert is still, as ever, hopeful
