A grassy climb confronts us.
Lakeland
but out on a limb.
We pass brawny, parked heather
and pick a purple flower
to adorn your coral hair.
Green blades pay their own tributes
to you, queen of overhauls.
It is like they acknowledge
what you have suffered and won.
We advance upwards, our glutes
robust as rust, faces glad.
I clap you home, at the top.
I say Well done
by a cairn.
Short of breath, you long for breath.
Solway Firth, Coniston Fells,
and Scotland sit still.
Wins.
We take our pick
and take stock.
A grassy descent follows.