An Irish immigrant - Song from Dublin Bay

In the balmy sea sun wind
we sit on the dock wall.
"I hate goodbyes," you say.
Forty years,
this record breaker. This game
of fortune we play.
But for now, linked
as our hands,
soon to be pulled apart,
like the tide that sucks the sea
from the land.
Yet later, much later on
(when the tear is dry).
And when I see Liverpool.
And the last ocean-gull has gone.
And the tall waves have lapped their song.
I will carry your smile, wrapped round
like the bright heather
on the high cliff today.
Knowing : until next time ...

By Maureen Weldon