Reflections Of A Winter’s Morn
Standing on the slip together
With you in my arms
Watching the waves thunder as they
Draw in from the sea, heavy rolling
To crash with exultation against shore
Before dissipating into bubbles,
Dancing on the surface of the deep.
The seagulls fly over the waves
Small heads craning side to side,
Wings planing gently against the wind,
Their cries echo distant to greet us.
Across the water the shadows
Of the land shrouded in mist.
I feel a tenderness
Melting softly like butter
Across freshly baked bread.
Not that shit margarine
Not a loaf from the shop
But something I kneaded myself
With a dash of pride
From my own two hands.
The mist turns to rain &
We walk home again.