We walked

up through the wood

nettles and oak

a dark green

fall of light

leading us

past soft

erect wheat

then the white

potato flowers

and flints, a few

rusty can tops

it is the shining

June day, warm

as seldom

in our country

on our skin

a south wind

silver barley ears

are swaying

swaying us

and a lark

less visible than

the flower, blue

big, no bigger

than your pupil

under crusty

oaks again, ferns

they smell of salt

curved seawaves

& a place

we found

called the kingdom

of children

you said, because

nobody frowns

as you climbed

vanishing up

a giant beech, red

as old blood

tall as the sky,

so many strong

branches it

was easy