Poem

The Seventh Sister

My county lies like a woman
at the foot of England.
Her curves roll in green. My home,
nestled safely in her bosom,
is surrounded by the soft femininity
that nature has carved.

I stand alone yet rooted,
attached almost umbilically
upon the arch of her hip
and watch the sea soothe her,
massaging her rough skin smooth.
Her chalk white exterior
suggests a strength, a purity
but I know her vulnerability.
She will crumble, with time.

She sighs, her breath blows over me
lifting my hair from my face.
My eyes close instinctively,
I feel as if I came from her fertile soil,
and I know I will return one day
but in this brief moment, for now,
we are part of one another.

My county lies like a woman
at the foot of England.
She is however, not subservient
to her hardened, rocky brother.
My county lies like a woman
and I lie on the cliff edge, with her.

Francesca Jones
Seaford, United Kingdom

Frankie is studying English and Creative Writing at University and (amongst a love for fiction and playwriting) has developed a deep love for both writing and reading poetry over the last few years and hopes to go into a career doing what she loves: writing.

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