‘Tis an old grey morning overcast

The cloud letting light pass through;

Dare I ask is this weather’s to last,

No chance of a change of view?


Watching the sea’s pulsating sheet,

Breathing mountainous mass so alive;

Scavenger birds on rocks at my feet,

I see the lone Comorant dive.


Ship on the horizon from England’s shore,

Passes an outlying buoy;

A flock of Gulls, perhaps a score,

Hover and plummet with joy.


A ray of sunshine streaks the sky,

To peckers and divers a sign;

To fluff themselves up on rocks that lie,

Along this ancient shore line.


A rounded head with pointed snout

Appears through surf and the foam;

Sleek hunter of the deep is about,

Patrolling reefs of its watery home.


No need for stores or larders these,

Like man preordained to plough;

They reap the bounty of the seas,

To survive on what life will allow.


Monty Alexander 25.6.98

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