Trebetherick (John Betjeman Poem)
We used to picnic where the thrift Grew deep and tufted to the edge; We saw the yellow foam flakes ...
We used to picnic where the thrift Grew deep and tufted to the edge; We saw the yellow foam flakes ...
Those moments, tasted once and never done, Of long surf breaking in the mid-day sun. A far-off blow-hole booming like ...
The last year's leaves are on the beech: The twigs are black; the cold is dry; To deeps byond the ...
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