St Mary's Island Poem by Paul Reed

Plimsolled feet stand on creviced stone
Encrusted with clinging shells and kelp and bone,
But never relaxed can their steps abide
With one eye on the incoming tide;

For this land belongs to the sea
Each day overwashed, submerged then set free,
Where grey seals rest, then entwine to play
On the slippery fringes of the rocky bay;

Oystercatchers stab and pick and probe
Prancing inside the sea's foamy robe,
Overhead circle the restless, crying gulls
Silhouetted as the setting sun dulls;

The lighthouse stands serene, white and old
It's worn-down steps tell of tales untold,
Once again the causeway ceases to be
As it's craggy top slips under the sea.