Beacon

(For Emily, my Muse)

They stood by the Beacon,
Staring at the island lighthouse,
West of the inlet,
Above its turbulent shores.

The keeper’s cottage where
They might hide from the world,
On and in, and why not, under the warm bed,
High on the cliffs, above turbulent shores.

Weekly trips on the mainland ferry,
Harbour jostling with dolphins,
Their pods much more than the worth of the fare,
Keeping the rhythm, near turbulent shores.

Visiting shops for fresh bread and tea,
Blankets and batteries, bacon and bandages,
Collections of letters and sometimes a parcel,
From faraway places, to turbulent shores.

Now some find peace in centres of cities,
Others find calm in a village’s heart,
But they could rest never, when they were parted,
From rough tranquil waters of turbulent shores.

(17.01.24)