Working hard against the wind.
\nI head into the brining.
\nI grieve\u00a0Lands End, yet hold the place,
\nmore sinned against, than sinning.<\/p>\n
My path repaired, the route stone-paved,
\nno more the ruts of old.
\nReturn, once more, the place I\u2019ve craved,
\nsome kindred, our fold.<\/p>\n
Ahead the gorse in blossom still,
\nthe thrift remains with flower.
\nUpon the granite stone and shrill,
\na gull complains the weather.<\/p>\n
Below the Mulheim lies abreached,
\nWhile the lady gazes ever.
\nI take Maen Castle, to be released,
\nfrom old constraint and terror.<\/p>\n
So here I sit, oblivious,
\nof\u00a0 time, change, or fate.
\nSafe, content and cumbrous,
\nascend to fugue, dilate.<\/p>\n
The watch ahead, a permanence.
\nWhile here at last luxate,
\nI drop away, in absence,
\nmy soul at last pennate.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Working hard against the wind. I head into the brining. I grieve\u00a0Lands End, yet hold the place, more sinned against, than sinning. My path repaired, the route stone-paved, no more the ruts of old. Return, once more, the place I\u2019ve … Continue reading