the sea is rattling bones today

and the wind holds my ears to ransom

for want of a scarf and a hat

she is walking on the promenade

and wants no part of the play

so I am talking to the man on the pier

with the rods and ask

“what’s your game?“

whiting

and if he’s lucky

bass

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the jackdaws bruised the garden today

borrowing sticks, stealing hay

the sticks we can eventually have back they say

once seasoned by the summer’s fray

I tell them they can keep them anyway

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