BY THE COASTAL ROAD
There is a tower upon the hill yonder.
In pensive mood here I would ponder.
The tower was a silhouette in the shape of a bat wing.
And at one o'clock the mysterious stranger should sing.
I watch the tower by the seashore.
And my feeling of awe grows in depth sore.
At the forefront of the tower gate
A seagull would spit and cower in spate.
Next to the weedy outcrop of the tower standing.
The waves were afraid to make a landing.
And the fish stayed away
From the bank of the towers' bay.
The sand whereby I sit is in contour depth.
By the weight of my mystical awe in being shot hath.
Still the tower looks.
Swinging their flaps, the heavy curtains fill up the nooks.
Jealous and wanting of lucky boon.
Envisaging an invasion, looks the moon.
Single and amassed in the height.
The tower looks to the moon in a show of might.
Sorry are those dead crabs.
That dared to progress to the slabs.
And in a vacant saga on the rocks.
Me looks up henceforth at the forbidden rocks.
, October 1999, The first of a new style.
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