Jonathan Swimming His Horses
£2.50
Our Poem
The wind catches his hair and tosses her inane
Caressing the surf again and again.
As wave after wave runs for the shore,
The race is on, he asks for more.
Necks outstretched flecked with foam,
On and on to their island home.
Like the God Oceanus astride the bay,
The Grey by his side enveloped in spray.
Verse by Mary Lascelles
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