Winding Road

 Winding Road


The road that winds down to the sea

The sea that boasts wild white horses

This Sunday in the middle of October

When the year seems uncertain and frail. 


The wind in the trees stripping back

The soft leaves of summer have faded

They scurry and hurry as the day

Draws to a close at Carne harbor. 


White and grey clouds travel east

On a pale heaven of startling blue

The sun lights the sky in the east

In a final salute to the evening. 


The wind is whipping the waves

The spray is crowning the crests

The power of nature so awesome

The puddles reflecting the blue in the sky. 


Happy to share a lone beach

Deserted but for a few souls 

Believing in the beauty of autumn,

Unwilling to let go of the year. 


Soon Halloween will come and will conquer

Driving the Irish indoors

But for now we’ll wander the lanes 

That lead us down to the shore. 

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