Clifftop

The wet grass below our feet,
cool summer morning dew.
I run to you, slowly.
We hold hands at arms length,
and gather pace.
Racing over dandylions
and islands of clover that inhabit the place.

Faster in tumble as the music rises,
Morning by Greig.
The cliff edge approaches.
A rolling sea of green fields below,
Above clear sky,
dotted with pure clouds.
We leap, and fly.

© Mark Sheeky. Permission is required for reproduction.