This August day
we set out across the ever shifting sands at Morecambe bay

mechanics if the heart can mend,
tending flock
taking stick and stock to and of the tidal movement.

The cockles black,
******* against the sea,
good for food and food for tea.

we turn away from Grange
and rearrange internal compass
heading for home shore.

This we see and
all of this
is free

always should be but you can never tell
however until hell freezes over Morecambe bay
we
will forever have this
August day.