Potting crays with Poss and Curl off Southport
Island as the sun rose above the sea,
Listening to the flap of cray tails brought
To the surface was rewarding for me.
Drifting along the Narrows, lines in hand,
Watching the faces of Joy, Matt and Jem who
Reeled in so many flathead off the sand,
Enjoying the moment as anglers do.
The cricket matches, mostly tip and run,
At the Deep Hole upon the squeaky sand,
Were a laugh a minute for everyone,
For Annells, Coleman and Edmunds clans.
We’re older now, remembering the past,
When the friendships we formed were made to last.