Many a times I have been to Harwood Point.

When the travel bug bites my feet
My eyes pine for the marine froth
In the May’s summer heat
I pack in my kitbag the barest cloth.

At Harwood Point

The river runs in turbulent progress
Maddened in the pursuit of the sea’s embrace!

From Harwood Point

The river would carry me to the sea.

When the sun spills blood on the river
The vessel would leave Harwood’s wooden jetty!

As that small port diminishes from my sea bound way
It sets me to brood.

Who was this Harwood?

Why this Point bears his name?

As the vessel picks up steam
I fall into a deep dream.

J.T. Harwood 1831.

Some British Surveyor
Lost in the pages of archived Register
Laid to rest in the dust of fame

But lives his name
To this day
On my sea bound way

A name without a face
Where the river runs for the sea’s embrace!