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Dreams by the Pier He's talking on a cell-phone, A small boy child, just Higher than the coal-black dog beside him. Dog and boy have liquid eyes, shining Like his toes by the thin lip of the whispering sea As it greyly creeps across the dun sand... The phone Held like a shell by his ear Will give the sounds of ocean... Then comes a pier reaching to infinity And there, hanging from the struts and girders, Trailing weeds are changed by light and water to cables of pearls - - As the sea heaves, covers, uncovers them.... ...and green emeralds and shining wet blue sapphires , and they dangle loosely in the wind, Like loot from strange kingdoms. Through them like dreams and mirages of time Our boy sees Bygone Vistas of dream, horizons of receding days, his Grandmother's India and the English Channel booming With the past... Wide-awash heavy- gunned Dreadnoughts plunging in the spume of power - Iron thighs of Empire cleave the heathen seas. It seems as though the shell-phone sighs... The captain's voice tells him to hold his station, Steady the array of fourteen inch guns. As the German shells scream into the wake; The cordite's bitter in his nostrils: His mother cries as she holds his sepia photograph. He shuts off his phone. |
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