Ship was seasick
ground and rolled
more than any cabined soul.

It dreamed
of trees.

Not oak, nor ash, nor old man yew,
nor glades of glory drenched dreams,
nor that surreal hour
when the trees have turned
their backs on the sun,
except for flirting young birches
who blush gold
in shining attention.

Just trees,

As loud as it could
to drown out the sea.

Holly Hopkins

Winner of the Simon Elvin Young Poet of The Year Award, organised by the Poetry Society