Peel Harbour


Red as a garnet in the setting sun

The old cathedral ringed by castle walls

Guards like a sentinel, when day is done,

The slumber of the port,

Still echoing with seagulls’ calls.

And where the fisher girls with noisy sport

Plied their deft knives

The barrels stand as replete as aldermen

In solemn conclave.


The stream a crimson ribbon threads the mud

And chiming clocks record the passing lives

O’er many a grassy grave.


The fishing smacks lean to the silent quay

And all the loud activity

Is hushed, and folded in the drapes of night;

While, darkening like the ebbing blood,

The far-receding western wave

Gathers against return of morning light.


Mona’s Herald     13.11.62