Scarborough Sleeps

 

Distant church bells probe fretted air, where

Roof top gulls roost, wrapped in feathery cloaks.

Shivering clouds sob mournfully about everyone’s panes, and a

Hibernating town huddles under a grey blanket.

 

Shuttered shop fronts rattle their complaints,

Shared only by a spiteful wind that patrols dark doorways.

Customers long departed to foreign parts:

A desertion awkward to forgive.

 

Distant promises of golden days

Decaying in sandy graves.

Castles, keeps and their moats breached by

Relentless storming forces.

 

Candy floss dreams melt into the night.

Cold bones remember a sun’s generous hug.

Do white horses still charge the North Shore

If no-one is awake to see them?