Our common heart  is almost out of reach

We saw a  piece of driftwood on a beach
Purified and purged by lashing waves
The memory  is almost out of reach

At Brancaster, the sun  sometimes had heat
We walked too far and risked a watery grave
We might have   been two bodies on the beach

The confidence of foolish men is deep
We imitate them and how they behave
Our common sense  is flying out of reach

And I myself am now an ancient witch
In the sea pools ,I will, salty, bathe
I took a  piece of driftwood from a beach

Inspection of the wood had much to teach
It showed a gentle beauty as it lay
Our common heart  is almost out of reach

Oh,like the step of Blythburgh church  pale grey
Broken stones  with cracks where   beetles play
We saw a  piece of driftwood on the beach
So pure and pale, it made the  white sands speak