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Crossing try line on Saturday Ending with raucous call, On Monday morning after prayer, And name pronounced in hall. Cricket, getting runs Or stretching long an arm for catch, Football, dramatic winning goal Or tennis, game set and match. Pools on weekend evening And hope for one more draw, All this adds up to just one word, Just one, the final, score. But here is Suffick they see the word With meaning, for me, brand new, Opens up the way to sea, Widens land-lubbers view. A steep place, of cobbles made, With steps for helpers feet, To place those tubby wooden boats On waves to catch our meat From salt sea often wild with wind, Dark grey and topped with foam, Sometimes blue and mill pond like That eases path to home. Now far removed from waters edge No longer need for solo oar, Large boats safe in horseshoe docks, Leave signs writ large to show The Score. |