In Bruton at fifty

We are what the sea has made
           into and out of it—
and starflakes falling
           on a Saturday night
along with long threads
           of fine frozen fire
and a kiss and a cuddle
           to our heart’s desire

and age seems so trivial
           fifty years on
with all that’s gone well
           with whatever’s gone wrong
fifty years and a day
           and a day
who would have thought
           it would work out that way

on Lusty Hill
           where the dovecote stands
and love so disruptive
           to all of our plans
here where the river
           runs down to the sea
what is and what was
           and what’s bound to be

John Lyons