Behind the breakwater, the horseshoe bay;

a sooty shore

washed by slate-grey sea

that pushes and pulls to the tractor-chug

and the soaring cries of the gulls.

In the sand and salt

sit squat and honest houses,

their colours faded now

to autumnal and wintry shades

but home, still, to the seaside folk

and the fishermen afar,

set sail on painted cobles, gone

for tea.

Rusting puffins and,

up on the the rounded point, the great stone church

preside over the tide and

guard the gloried grains, banked in their billions,

against the callous wind.

Down in the narrow streets

- littered with nets, tangled stories and

idle lobster pots -

the generations run

unbounded as the grout between bricks

or the cobbled moss underfoot.

On occasion, the heroes launch,

scrambling into the waves,

out past the Couple cut adrift,

stood stoic - cold faces, their etched ambivalence,

watching the horizon for eternity

and wishing to stroll the arcing promenade

forever by-the-sea.

by Dan Brown

Other poems of BROWN (351)

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