How straight it flew, how long it flew,
it clear’d the rutty track,
and soaring, disappeared from view,
beyond the bunker’s back –
a glorious, sailing, bounding drive,
that made me glad I was alive.
Ah! Seaweed smells from sandy caves,
and thyme and mist in whiffs,
in-coming tide, Atlantic waves
slapping the sunny cliffs, lark song and sea sounds in the air
and splendour, splendour everywhere.
John Betjeman
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