On Crosby Sands the Iron Men stand still.
The windy beach remains unpainted yet.
You’ve still to capture that. So wild so wet.
You will; for I will take you there and will
Perhaps just watch and hold your brushes
And wonder how you can with such few strokes
Do what you do. I’d be the first of blokes,
God willing, cutest Kate, to swap (he blushes!)
A sonnet for a picture, dear… but hey!
Our night is over, not to be replayed.
You’ve twice surprised me, lovely Kate,
Surprised, delighted, then… on the next day
Retreated like the tide on Crosby Sands,
And like your scent now faded… from my hands.