Craggy Bays Through Mists of Time
Drifting across the moors,
wandering – seeking shelter,
a carpet of moss gives a feeling
of engulfed danger, you become
weary...with every slight of step.
The distant sea calls – through
the far menacing atmosphere...
thick – hazy fog devouring all,
the heath provides no shelter for travellers,
risky – precarious, it beckons the impulsive,
but if by chance the sea to spy...
white washed cottages perched up high,
appearing to gaze at a maddening cry...
that shows no compassion for the meek,
the cove sits weather beaten,
storm tossed fishing boats...
set adrift by ravenous – turbulent sea,
her appetite for destruction lingers
long through the endless night...
waves smash, slam jagged rocks...
showing no mercy...wild – tempestuous,
as one who is malcontent and enraged...
then as clouds break and drift away,
the Sun rises over the picturesque bay,
two strangers their conversation stilted,
but glad to be sheltered from the storm,
back by a log fire in the fisherman's home.