The West Pier

 The West Pier


Sitting in the autumn sun

Halfway down the rustic pier

Not too far and not too near

The tinkling cleats I can hear. 


Grasping chances just like this

When winter comes we’ll surely miss

The warmth of sun on harbor wall

Yachts lie mooring, standing tall. 


Harbour guard rolls by in comfy car

With comfy job, no baddies here,

Stoic runners bashing gravel 

Ruining joints and autumn peace 


Man in boat with perfect balance

Standing proudly at the stern

Makes his way with practiced ease

Beyond a junk that barely floats. 


Lucky we among the millions 

Peace within and peace without

Barely conscious of our blessings

We’ll harvest memories to be sure. 


Noisy seagulls make their point

Distant traffic thrums on streets

The commuter train screeches by

The working craft slides gently past.   


Junior sailors venture forth

Staying close for prudence sake

Sails a flutter in the foreground

Youthful laughter across the pond. 


This familiar scene repeated often

Across the seasons, down the years

What have we done to deserve this blessing?

Not a thing it seems to me. 

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