• Vol. 02
  • Chapter 11

On Returning

I remember my arrival
On these shores, when, flushed with yearning,
I looked across golden beaches
As if they were invitations.
Now, complacent, tired and ageing,
Sands look grey and seas have blackened.
Towns that once were filled with treasures
Are all reminiscent wreckage.
Looking back across the ocean
I can picture distant places -
Palm-laden paradises -
Yet return to land, to Devon,
To imagining my own room
As an island, warm and gentle.