On iron sand is shadow cast
By spectral man collecting past
Combing forever this band of soot
For subtle track, for print of foot
For memories of his Celtic love
His life, his girl, hand to his glove
A raveonette whose ebony tresses
Hung cropped above heav’nly vessels
Emerald eyes that shone with mirth
Held such fervour for man and earth
A slight frame clad in summer dress
Of lightest cotton with rose petals pressed
A golden cord round thin hips wound
Her bare feet stained green did glide ov’rground
She wrote, she read, she laughed and cried
She listened, she sang, then untimely she died
Scrawled sadly onto History’s page
A fallen victim to Envy’s rage
Of boiling broth and spitting salt
Of lashing rain and lightning bolt
Lost to sea where they were cast
By dread foul wind and splintered mast
Pitched to white cap and washing swell
To hushing depths, to ever dwell
Yet He was spared, and set to shore
Bereft of love forevermore
To emulate the crying gulls
While tortured pain refused to dull
And now, undone, he comes
To selfish sea, for seven suns
To wade the shallows, gone with grief
To hurl to the ocean his florid wreath
WRITING 