Walking the harbour walls in Ainster*
I can feel yet the reek of death from
The fishing boat out to lay creels caught itself
A ripped and shattered fabric when righted
No human crew left.
In Toronto at the Native museum I saw
how easy the ice claimed lives
In South Africa I walked in charred ruins
A township house gone fire become savage
As the cooking oil was burnt for warmth
It seems there is aye the storms come winter
They bring a warning from the past and the past yet to be made.
*Fishing/tourist town in Fife