Amidst The Mays Poem by Fran Spear

Along the quay a merry desert bloom
sings the merry May pole defying the salt, seaweed and dogs -

circling, circling it rings

the aging driftwood which lies alone -
to rot by itself,

you've seen for yourself the aged piece immersed in sand
that used to be the bay's solid footing

- it was grand and immovable
never the mind the water

Did it come forward on its' own? or did the water flee? to sit in quiet pools by wood unknown before?

it may have been either, both or neither;

But may it be, or may it not, the month of this May says for sure it is his and no other's.

The children have fled to sneak back in garb of the old - faces wrinkled and wistful glances at that spot

- once and that great once -
was a May never forgotten