Folk songs we have sung

“Where have all the flowers gone”
The sea has taken them.
We have a desert mentality now
until the sea reminds us.

The tide marches in
and surges where it will.
It destroys our shores.
Prays on our weakness,

Limits our actions.
And turns us again
into dependants,
Anxiously watching
and waiting for nature
to whisper “All clear”.

And is there a more
poignant cry than from
washed-up seal pups?

Wrenched from mothers
with the finality of
abandonment
in a war zone.

Some dead on arrival.
With no flowers in their
salty and encrusted wreaths.