On Whitby Pier
Do you remember Whitby
Pier
when we two sauntered there together,
White horses breaking far and near
in wild and windy winter weather.
Waves beating on the outer
wall
With foaming spray tossed to the sky,
engulfing us in salty squall,
And overhead the seagulls cry.
Exhilaration all around,
and we were young and fancy free,
uplifted by the thunderous sound
Of that wild and boisterous sea.
The east cliff rising steep
and high
Where red roof climb and lean and lurch,
and on its crest against the sky
Wind howling round the ancient church.
Boats swaying at the harbour
quay
Their tall masts bowing straight and stiff,
and on the beach the raging sea
Hard pounding at the western cliff.
Your sheepskin coat drawn
close about
Against the biting winter air
and hand in hand, with little doubt
We were the happiest strollers there.
Then homeward up by Skinner
Street
with tea at Bothams on the way
Where toast and fresh creams we would eat;
Ah, happy days for us were they.
I went down to the pier
today
A wild sea raging just as then;
But now it all seemed bleak and grey
and how I yearned for you again.
And Bothams too is much
the same,
White tablecloths and smartly run;
But absent, you; and when tea came
It was an order just for one.
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