Brash

Bold and brash the summer sun ascends,
A splash of brass upon the pond that bends.
He laughs too loud in market streets, his words
A crash of colour, bright as tea‑time curds.

In pubs he swaggers, pint in hand, his grin
A flash of daring, slightly thin and dim.
Yet underneath the brash, a trembling heart—
A shy soul masked by swagger, playing part.

So raise a cup to those who dare be bold,
Whose brashness sings a story, brave and old.
For every brash shout hides a quiet quest—
A yearning for the calm within the zest.