Yorkshire Coast

Across the road, a hedge, A church, a clump Of bird's nest bearing trees, Where rooks caw In the summertime And gulls glide inland On the breeze which laps The waves that smack the rocks Of Filey Brig and Bay. But when the sea-fret Rolls its way up Reighton Gap And Cayton Bay, It hides the hedge, Blots out the trees, Making the scene quite Japanese, Veiling the face of Speeton's bluff; such Damp-white, seafoam-candy stuff.

And when the cold North Easter Blows, and claws at Bempton's Mighty cliffs, and wintry seas Crash Flamborough's heights, And gulls scream round my house

o'nights, I draw my curtains, Poke my coals, And pray for all seafaring souls.