‘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