Was it the name ?  We always laughed to hear

It mentioned, and we voiced the hoary joke

Times without number that here one could find

The Manx egg quarries, famous far and near,

From which were hewn the shells that never broke ;

But to its patient charm our eyes were blind.

It never in our hearts was counted dear

Although of it with love we often spoke,

And clear its image shone in each one’s mind.

But not until I saw it as a smear

Of paint on canvas, with its cottage smoke,

Its old grey bridge, the swelling howe behind,

Its water mill, was I at last aware,

Before the bungalows, how it was fair !


Mona’s Herald     11.4.61