The Old Sea Town Poem by Michael Moorcroft

The streets were empty,
The windows were shut,
The roads too small,
The buildings like huts.

Mist clung to the chimneys,
And blocked out the sun,
The beach lay deserted,
The pubs out of rum.

Shops all closed,
Windows dusty.
Smell of decay,
Old cars all rusty.

Its dwellers gone sour,
As lacking the power,
To remake their homes,
Alas they still moan.

This place is known,
As the old sea town.

© Michael Moorcroft July 28th 2009