Break, Break, Break,
On thy cold grey stones oh sea,
And I would that my tongue could utter,
The thoughts that arise in me.
-Alfred Lord Tennyson
Admiring the North-West Coast ocean view,
Breathing the salt and moisture-laden wind,
The purest on earth, confirmed to be true,
By air scientists at nearby Cape Grim
The waves relentlessly crash on this shore,
Where the Southern Ocean surges endlessly
From far flung South America, before
Crashing on sand and rocks relentlessly.
I was mesmerised as waves surge, retreat,
In awe of the coastal power on show,
To watch, I decided to take a seat.
On the weathered, lichen covered rocks below.
Rocky shelves and sheltered coves of this coast,
Where rock lobsters lurk among bull kelp weed,
Jack Matthews from Cape Grim cliffs, as my host,
Caught lobsters in craypots to meet his needs.
I followed Jack, (I courted daughter Joy),
Clambering along the cliffs of Cape Grim,
Above kelp fringed pools, he would deftly deploy
Lobster pots, some fifteen metres below him.
Jack caught numerous rock lobsters or ‘crays’
When I had the pleasure to fish back then,
A very special time of carefree days;
They’ve passed; but I always remember when!
Joy stands beside me, (fifty years and more
Together watching windswept, ocean swells,
Reflecting on those special times before
The ‘sands of time’, consume us as well!