On days like this I wish I were at home.
Here it’s hot and sticky and still,
The sun is aching to set
And call it a day,
To take a break from non-stop work,
With never a cloud to hide behind
And stretch and breathe and rest
Even for a moment.
There a wild wind whistles over Dolebury
And a crazy melee of pummelling gusts
Race in a rush to the hills of Wales.
They skim the cream from the deep, brown waves,
With a pause for applause from the soaring gulls
Where the Severn has grown to a sea.
Then they corner at speed
Round the dark cliffs of Steep Holm.
On Flat Holm they batter the lighthouse.
“Who’ll be the first to the top of the Sugar Loaf?”
Now they play hide and seek among the Brecon Beacons,
Then back again south to Somerset
Where they howl around the old church towers,
And encircle the stone steeples,
Till they’re home again on the Mendip hills,
And there they take a breather,
All just for fun.