Clacton-on-Sea

Is it my turn to sink? asked the boat.
How do others stay safely afloat
when the waves are XL and it’s no longer swell
to have sailed somewhere quite so remote?

It’s so easy to fall, said the bird,
once you know that to fly is absurd
although having to land without cushions to hand
is a business much better deferred.

I’ve been locked in the land, said the tree
when I’d really much rather be free
and to stroll on my roots just as though they were boots
from Clapham to Clacton-on-Sea.

Tom Vaughan

If you have any thoughts about this poem,  Tom Vaughan  would like to hear them