Filey Brigg Poem by Paul Reed

The first fresh light of morning
Rekindled friendship with the dew
Lit the great shadows in the angry cliffs
Stood firm against the North Sea’s spew;

Arched out into the vast depths
Filey Brigg pointed a crooked finger
It’s knuckle turned towards my face
And beckoned me in to linger

Atop this layered cake of time
Where brambles grew on stony cills
The sheer and savage, plunging edge
Interspersed with bobbing daffodils;

The speck of a skylark hung overhead
Throbbed down to me his boundless tune
That split the air and split my heart
Chased away it’s decaying croon;

From within a tangled mass of thorns
A single blackcap perched resolute
Weighed me up without shame or fear
And threw to me his joyous flute;

And on the gentle fragrant breeze
The curlew flung his lonely note
That shivered in the new-swept morning air
With delicate, mournful dote

All of these treasures found me alone
The only one who thought to rise
To tramp and breathe the ragged coast
And steal the morning’s prize