SPARSHOLT SONNET A poem about a summer school at Sparsholt College, Winchester, teaching young people from all across the world In Sparsholt skies red kites are flying over The downland grasses rich with fragrant clover Their slender wings teach others how to soar On summer winds that warm the valley floor While round tall eaves the tiny martins wheel Ancestral purpose drawn from Afric field Sharing this brief sojourn from roosts abroad With others who have slipped their home-bound chord In mead and classroom vernal migrants meet From divers lands of south and east they come With teachers and fun-masters soon to greet The youthful pilgrims and to beat the drum Of learning, friendship, tolerance, but more May they also teach their charges how to soar