At this ancient, battered headland my gaze
Is seaward and merges with the cold blue
Tainted moments of surreal mid winter.
The soft, unbroken vowels of the tide
Are enclosed within the wind's gutturals.
Gulls stutter their syllables of longing.
And I reminisce about time spent here
In wilder days of youth; when summer was
Still green and gold promise and we enjoyed
A certain kind of freedom; that is now
Lost forever deep within the debris
Of these myopic, insubstantial times.
I'll try to recall this freedom clearly,
Before my ageing mind turns foggy grey.