The naughtiest thing I've ever done was not
to race, wide-armed, through a field of oats
scattering grain. Or even – if I give it thought –
to go out in the moonlight, slip
over wire and fence to steal turnips
from a crofter's field. Instead there was the time tripped
over into conceit, when I believed I was right
for some role, when it was clear to all I didn't quite
fit, when I was not ready for a fight
or challenge I determined to take on.
It was then my heels were rocked below me
by storms sweeping over stalk and stook
with all the force and fury of the spirited and young.