PENTIRE POINT

I walked slowly up to high Pentire Point, the wind teasingly cold.
Two hundred feet below me the sea surged, waves were crashing.
I pause on rocks where Laurence Binyon wrote his poem, They shall not grow old.
It has been a good time from historically tragic Port Quin walking.

The sea is implacable, beautiful , impervious , so in that sense surely unthreatening.
The sea does not react to ones emotions, it just is.
I find it inspiring yes but still frightening.
You cannot forget or deny it or so close it miss.

I know you are powerful, what you conceive you can perform.
Am I the man who obscured your design.
I am old , dimly can I see the approaching storm.
The sleet and rain are a fast approaching blue line.

Then I look at the cliff top plaque again. As they that are left grow old.
Our life and it’s sorrows should not be a story untold.