The clearing mist upon the shore,
Reveals the Island of ancient lore.
Wrecks of ships and bones of the dead,
Are all what’s left after HE has fed.
Chilling screams and frightening cries,
what evil on this Island, lies.
But during high tide, I’m safe for a while
for soon I must be far, from this evil Isle.
Before the mist comes in again,
the tide will turn and fear will reign.
Looking for food, he will be on the prowl,
but wont get me, as I’m soon to set sail.
The clipper leaves when the sun goes down
I will be on it and away from this town.
Enough food and drink, which is fit for a Count,
As I am the one, that is the evil on the mount.
© Richard Hamilton-Veal. March 2010.
On a recent visit to Cornwall, I took this picture of St Michaels Mount, and during the processing of the picture, this written work came to me.
I hope you like it.