Wins

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.