Walking Today Poem by William Fay

Upon Trow Point I know the lovers have fled;
Their pulsing rock is gone below the sea.

I saw you waiting, black and white, ghostly,
Trembling in your Edwardian holiday finery;

You do not smile, but stood above the bay,
Holding prim, the uneasy flowered bonnet,

Survey the wind swept May Day merriment,
The sporting heroics of the colliery gala;

The dread, then yes, your wrestled first kiss.
Remember our declarations, our midnight pledge?

The naval gun, inert upon the cliff edge,
It's barrel spiked, strains seawards still.

Now plodding from Grotto to ruined Windmill,
The gleam of brass plates, fixed upon

Benches with a sea view, marks our tracks,
From here to there, from then to now....

Our love too soon taken for granted, then,
As rare as the dune stained with blue flax;

Our flower's brief bloom, delicate and wild,
Bared, above Trow, in sharpened, summer grass.