The Legend Of Ebbynfloe. Poem by Dan Reynolds

The Harbour Lights no longer guard my dreams.
They spend more time beneath "the briny's" reach
As rising tides come close to Luna's beams,
three miles of cliff tops now lay on the beach.


The old man and the sea-front point is mute
but for comparisons with Hemmingway.
So rows of terraced cottages uproot
and march towards the shore, the lemming way.


The crumbling coastal barriers succumb
to government indifference to our plight,
while Davey Jones knocks back another rum
and claws another acre, every night.


Though struggling sea defences fail to keep…
another island rises from the deep