Felixstowe, or The Last of Her Order (John Betjeman Poem)
With one consuming roar along the shingle The long wave claws and rakes the pebbles down To where its backwash ...
With one consuming roar along the shingle The long wave claws and rakes the pebbles down To where its backwash ...
The sleepy sound of a tea-time tide Slaps at the rocks the sun has dried, Too lazy, almost, to sink ...
We used to picnic where the thrift Grew deep and tufted to the edge; We saw the yellow foam flakes ...
I am a young executive. No cuffs than mine are cleaner; I have a Slimline brief-case and I use the ...
The gas was on in the Institute, The flare was up in the gym, A man was running a mineral ...
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