Cockle Pickers Poem by Margaret O Driscoll

Cockle Pickers

Rating: 5.0


Their work dictated by the tides
Some days they picked at first light
Baskets strapped to their shoulders

In blazing sun or blinding rain
As long as the tide was out
As long as there was light

Stooping low to the sands
Eyes scanning as they moved
Picking cockles from ancient beds

Like their ancestors before
They raced against the tide
To reap the bounty of the bay

Even as the incoming tide
Lapped over their feet, they picked
Relenting only when it rose too high

They hauled their dripping harvest
Bent, tired, weak
Drenched to the skin

Sunday, January 31, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: strand
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Barry Middleton 31 January 2016

Very good work. It really paints a picture I can see and feel.

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Margaret O Driscoll 03 February 2016

Thank Barry, I wrote it in response to an old picture of cockle pickers

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