We walked more and talked less,
Picking our way down beside
The Ferryboat, close enough
We could escape the tide, but
Far enough that we could
Pretend the serried ranks of
Polo shirts and deck shoes
Did not blight the beach.
'Fishing trumps a "private"
Sign each time,' you said,
And I laughed and threw
My rulebook in the river.
From the mud and grit
We gathered a bounty of
Sweet, sea fruit, such a
Simple harvest for a simple
Meal: mussels with bread
And cheese and wine.
Then, when done, we
Climbed the rocks and you
Gazed absently across the
Water, recalling evenings
Here alone, fishing and
Dreaming, building castles
On the cliffs, and knowing
That a million pounds could
Never change the pleasure
Of drifting by the tide line.
22nd August 2015
YOU ARE READING
Fragments And Reflections
PoetryPoems looking at everything and anything not in my other collections. Here you'll find life and time, wild oceans and lonely coast paths, busy streets and empty hotel rooms, wild concerts and late night writing. All just fragments and reflections, l...
