Headland (Poetry)

It is a better place — this spot
faraway but always near
enough for quick escape —
this headland I’ve imagined for my own
where none can reach me
for the private road is on no map.

It has evolved its painted look —
the perfect contours scaled to fit
the need for space and time away
and so remote beside a sea
that’s mine alone —
those tides run wild with dreaming...

All green and gold and blue
and never hostile —
weather set to warm nostalgia —
breezes kind
where the ageless wanderer in me
is free to linger.

On the beach or on the cliff
I spend my hours comfort-wrapped
in scenery untouched by years —
unchanging
every dune and sculpted rock
imagination coloured fine
is here.