In time's tortuous seas.
Upon the crest of the waves the white horses dance,
Whilst the seagulls congregate upon the sand,
And wait upon the shore for the creeping tide to turn.
Sea drift dips and bobs, buzzing bees can grab their chance
Whilst sentinel-strong the lighthouse makes its stand,
Its feet set square in a bed of grass and fern.
But on another day, the cargoed-ship will sail
And head to sea, en route from land to land,
With coal and cars and butter from the churn,
All the ebb and flow of daily life's travail.
And boats will burn.
© 2ndwitch, 26/04/14
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