On Farthing Downs

Through seas of grass you run
ecstatic at what's given;
light-soused blue above
what you might think the glens
last week at Cushendun,
but is, an airflight thence,
Coulsdon downland's curve
fitting a Surrey heaven.
I compose you in a frame
of background still the same

as I grew up with: Sunday
walks, then from the school
I got translated to
friends living hereabouts.
I asked, invited one day
to tea and scones, 'So that's
...