Here the rocks of time stand,

Bulwark between the sea and land;

Wearing nature’s lichen coat,

Trim for the cauldron’s endless moat.


Where birds take rest in the sun,

As they their daily sojourn run;

And fishermen go out to reap

A harvest from the rolling deep.


Forefathers stood at this same scene,

Then to leave for pastures green;

As ancestors came to find this shore,

Perhaps a thousand years before.


Whins from the hill like a curtain sweep,

And gnarled thorns their vigil keep;

As curling lips of wave caress the sand,

Tide in retreat out from the land.


Splendour of springtime’s midday ray,

Shines on the foraging Seal at play;

One doesn’t need to wander and rove;

Heaven is a Downshire cove.


Monty Alexander 5.3.04

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *