The sand is mud and it's a struggle
to reach the sea
it departs fast here
and returns slower
Those who tread this path
will sink in mire before
they reach the cool water
and those who're in
the Channel
are swept to the west
Stranded in Bridgwater Bay
there's no causeway here
so foot by foot
they press to the shore
losing ankles, thighs
and waist in the
clawing estuary
until
they can move no more
and will not rise
when the water surges
Oh i'd tumble in crashing waves
turn, tide, turn,
turn again to the shore
i'd ride on your surf
drift on the current
fall from a board
somersault in these
Somerset waters
float on the swell
taste your salt
Lift me from this sand
i can't reach your water
and can't wait for it
to come to me
Let every day be spring
when the Easter tide rises high
freeing all from beach
and estuary
let the Severn's roll take me onward
past Hinkley and Watchet
to Minehead, Porlock
where the sea's magnificent
against cliff and rock
the lights of Wales
shine like stars
and Burnham's mud is no more
Tom Rudge, DevonCopyright: By application
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