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Aug 2015
Sitting in the high grass,
praying as the sky turns grey.
Waiting for the cargo,
nervous eyes upon the waves.
Everything invested,
every shilling,
every crown.
His heart
is in his salty mouth.
On the cliff
as he looks down.

His eyes look to the lighthouse.
It's beam
they follow
out to sea.
He holds her locket
in his hands,
prays again,
"just let it be."

But this time,
prayers aren't answered.
The whistling wind,
begins to rise.
He opens up the locket,
stares and cries
into her eyes.

Alas, it is all over now.
He knows
that he cannot return.
The ebb and flow
is angry,
and he wonders
will he ever learn?

The bodies on the rocks below,
signal the sad end.
As lights appear upon the shore,
his dreams start to descend.
Into the rain.
Into the gales,
that blow on Bantry Bay.
He throws the locket to the wind.
Once more now,
upon his way.
Peter Cullen
Written by
Peter Cullen  Clane Co.Kildare Ireland
(Clane Co.Kildare Ireland)   
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