Wednesday, October 22, 2014


a drumroll of raindrops beating to the tune of the wind;
the cries of the children left upon the shore;
the stars that gaze down with disinterest
on man, who stands upon the pier and watches;
the heather that bends, and bows beneath the
onslaught of the gale; the burn that bursts its banks;
the white-washed house that cowers, low,
before the storm, and bars its doors in defiance;
the boats that toss and swing, dancing to the
devil's tune; the harbour with waves washing over
the wall; the lone light that stands proud
and calls the passing hours to no-one there;
the tapping of the halyard that tugs on the
tattered flag; the creak of the swinging sign
on the fisherman's inn; the shower of stars
as the flare is fired and the silent death hymn
that mocks as the ocean is challenged by
those few brave souls.

© 2ndwitch, 22/10/14

(I cannot sensibly say what the inspiration for this poem is, there are many, many reasons for it being written - but it can be accompanied by a tune, the origins of which are so well explained in this video -; or you could try this song which is about the same subject -

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