Robert McCallum

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The White Cliffs - Poem by Robert McCallum

He stood high upon the white cliffs
Gazing out to sea,
And as he watched its ebb and flow
There upon he wished to be;
O’ he then saw the seabirds soaring
As he felt the sea breeze blowing,
And the taste of brine was in the air,
But he was not seaward bound!

He stood high upon the white cliffs
Enraptured by the sea,
And as he felt its wind upon his face
There once more he wished to be;
O’ he heard the sea, as it was calling,
He saw the sun, but it was falling,
And darkness came to still the air,
For he was not seaward bound!

He stood high upon the white cliffs
Anchored to the land,
For there he had found his mooring,
As time came to demand;
O’ yet the sea each day came alluring,
But nothing now was reassuring,
And thus time came forth to chill the air,
For he was not seaward bound!

His final days were upon the white cliffs
Near the everlasting sea,
For time and toil had reached their end,
So there beyond he wished to be;
Alas, the sea was his blood a-flowing,
Then a breeze began favourably blowing,
And the taste of brine was in the air,
When God sent him seaward bound!


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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, October 9, 2013

Poem Edited: Thursday, October 10, 2013


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