Wharf.
Scatter
those tiny leaves,
About
the restless ghostly wharf.
See
angels leap laughing,
At
how a swollen sky,
Cries
for a maddened world.
Silence,
chill of the winter,
Fast
approaching merriment shall reap.
Cold
hard flagstone bathes,
In
fond memories of trade,
And
of gutted Herring bleeding.
My
ears see a tune,
As
eyes hear a lonely view.
Coming
again, every season changed,
Lost
and found in glory,
Upon
the Brayford wharf horizon.
For
Sophy.
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