I think I saw
what she saw.
The tide turning by the rocks,
the sea calm in its meeting with the shingle

I think I heard
what she heard.
The millenia witnessed by the rocks,
the children's footsteps crunching down the shingle

I think I knew
what she did not know
That her hair shone, her face was beautiful
as the swallows gathered for depart

and the rocks reflected her serenity.

For a Tourist at Lybster Harbour

Song of the shingle
Sung to the tune of the sea
Her heart hears the words