Senses soaked by salt permit my rest
Hills crunch into stretched out shores peering out to sea 
And as yellow spreads in the fields, people of the land meet 
In pubs like front rooms, where the pull of pace 
Has lost its grip, and dreams of equal importance 
Remain in the minds of honest folk 
Who without cause for concern go about their way 
With hope for the day  
Trusting it will come