" After The Storm "

Ah, the wind, the wind is dying,

As it puts the storm to bed,

In the sky the clouds are flying

As they chase each other o'erhead.

The halyards on the masts

Are quiet now they sleep,

When in the night they shrieked

Like Tormented from the deep.

The shore is piled high

With bladder wrack and weed

And in the rippling shallows

The swans still search for feed.

In the harbour they are bailing

Storm water from the boats

And the Ferry won't be sailing

Till we're wearing lighter coats.

They're sweeping shattered mast wood

From off the granite pier,

And three boats sank in Old St Ives

Across the land neck there.

In the park they use a chain saw

To cut up fallen trees

But after a storm like that

There'll be no more falling leaves.

The Fuchsia's at the Station

So bonnie just last week,

Are curled, burnt and shrivelled

From that storms salty reek

I've salt upon my windows,

Five hundred yards uphill

And though it's battered now and tattered

My flag is flying still.

Copyright © Res Burman 2nd January 2008

"Cornishman" Newspaper Photograph