Storms Over Time

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

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