Our Beacon Hill,
high up only from one angle,
guarded by horse chestnuts
idling in their shine.
Walk up beyond the gate
and into the surprise
of unexpected height. All light.
With her there,
nothing wrong at all,
a hill as if our throne,
and wide and glorious view.
We reign amongst the chestnut,
Good King and Queen.
Everything as solid
as the wheels of the carrier cart,
of Old Gervase,
winding through the fields,
axled to a tune.





