Coldingham Bay – Liz
Early Morning at Bigadon Hill- Sue
View through porthole- Edna
Vertigo- Allan
The moving version
Spot the Guillemots- Jan
View of Flatford- Heather

silent stour flowing

reflecting trees and cottage

who was willy lot?

Turning round a corner,
His breath caught in his throat.
Clouds had lifted, air smelt sweet,
chance danced in dust motes

Another pair of feet he saw,
below his aged knees,
Leather sandals, chasing dog,
through fields of corn and bees.

Back through time his heart spun fast,
Called on childhood friends.
Through the gap between the trees
He saw them all again.

Down below the shoreline hugged
The bay of huts and land.
Peppered spots of coloured wool
Picnics on the sand.

Cold his fingers sensed the thrill
rockpools, green and blue.
Crabs and tiny jellyfish,
Soaking socks and shoes.

Standing on the clifftop,
Seagulls swooping low.
This view took back his pain and time,
His favourite place to go.

Heavy clouds appearing,
Something not quite right.
Storm approaching, through the haze
Hold on with all your might.

Soon it's dark and noisy,
whooshing thumping Black!
Take me to the hillside.
Bring my childhood back.

Hands then, softly holding,
Flickering light so small.
Floating through the ages,
He's hardly real at all.

Suddenly, his tired eyes
Gaze at another pair.
Softly breathing to the tune,
Of all the beeps in there.

Welcome back George, the nurse says
You gave us all a start.
You'll be so very pleased to know,
You've got a brand new heart.


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