I walked along the cart track
Above and beside the potato field
I walked from the cottage
Behind the manor house at Mon Plaisir
Beauty may be in what you write
Or beauty may be in
What you think about, as you write
Beauty then is in your soul already
I walked into the farm-shop yard
Chatted to the workers and fellow shoppers
I ordered fresh vegetables, to be picked up later
Potatoes, carrots, peas and broccoli were packed
Taste may be imagined by the way that you write
Or taste may be in the growing and preparing
Yes taste caught by cooking and devouring
Taste then is in your soul already.
I walked down the hill to the Esplanade Road.
Then on, past the Catholic Church
To the newsagents & tobacconist, where
I bought a pack of filter-tipped, low-tar cigarettes
The faith may be in the words you write, whether
Or not you believe the smoke and mirrors
As you rub your fingers over the icon stonework
Faith then is in your soul already
