Cloth cap, coat thin with tears
Congregation of this grey coastline
Fishermen's wives and fears
Shuffling, eyes downcast to their pew
Quiet noises, coughs clearing throats
Rustle of hymn books, only few
Song sheets old and worn
With musty smell of old socks
A murmur as the priest climbs worn steps
Opening hymn 'For Those in Peril on the Sea'
No organ, just tired voices
Then out into the frigid ozone air
A sea mist meanders amongst the graves
Of old lost sailors, taken
From their mothers grieving breast
In line behind the walk the path
Down to frigid cottages
No smoke from these tired stacks
While out at sea
Their men, and a storm that rages.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem