The trees stand gaunt and swaying in the wind
Black silhouettes against darkening skies.
The wind whipped seas pound the rocky shore,
With an incessant frothy busyness,
Obsessive, demanding, anxious, grasping.
The waves roll in with exuberant roar
Then retreat with a long and mournful sigh,
Like the ebb and flow of warring armies.
Overhead, circling, screaming, a lone gull,
Like a mesmerised captive spectator
Of the foaming watery chaos below.
The trees add their own sad rhythmic cadence,
Like a wind driven shoreline harmony
In some dark symphony that stirs the soul.