At Cley
I have seen the sky-lines of geese linking sea and land
I have heard the redshank call from Serpentine’s sinuous creek
I have smelt salt on the north wind
And touched a sea-cold pebble on Cley’s shingle shore
At Cley
I have seen the snowy whiteness of an egret on the marsh
I have heard reeds talk, and listened to the ebb and flow of waves
I have smelt the sweetness of a thistle’s flower blowing on the shingle ridge
And touched the softness of a single feather lying on the shore
At Cley
I have seen a single Harrier drift silently across the reeds
I have heard a skylark song falling invisible from a blue sky
I have smelt the foetid scent of Alexanders on East Bank
And touched the feather of a winter reed head
At Cley
I have felt part of all this and more