Woodstown Poem by Martin Moore

WOODSTOWN FRIDAY 13TH JUNE 2015

Sit a while on the dry golden sand
With the rocks at your back, you will feel
The raw strength of earth at your hand
The shifting grains beneath your heels.
A carpet of seaweed and shells remain
Settled, resting on the harbour shore
The moon has stolen the tide away
But will return with her encore
The white face of a pied wagtail bows
While feeding at the tidal line
The raucous calling of the crows
Drowning out the children's cries
See the liner trundling in
Returning from some foreign clime
Its precious cargo cloaked in tin
All dictated by the tide.
The beach front houses stand above
The grass of low lying dunes
Their silent haven built with love
Resounds with a different tune
The waters will return again
As evening draws to close
The strand becomes vacated, stained
By a thousand feet and toes.
As darkness cloaks this watery land
And peace returns to reign
A driftwood army in the sand
A soldier in every grain.