Immy Lock

Just off the rocky shores and the
Springtide gardens on Connaught,

There’s a lamb

She has no thought
Of the wit she has brought.
Yet as brisk as the British breeze,
Lively with light springtime sun,
Zippy with crisp seas

There’s a girl

She’s got a sweet spot 
For sausage rolls hot.
She is still as fine as her flowering fields,
Cordial with late midnight meals,
Warm with long waterfront walks

Cymbeline’s treasure