A Walk on Dunwich Beach
I just love this place (photo c. 1900 . . . church long gone now)
Wind rouses my hair on Dunwich Beach.
A tangle rendered to a messy thatch.
Waves churn mud coloured sand.
Currents smooth stones torn from
defenceless cliffs by winter storms.
One for every human on the planet.
Plenty to spare for Suffolk rockeries
or repairs to flint faced Norfolk cottages.
Useful nodules mingling with fossil shells.
A pebble bed for bleached tree-stumps —
coastal gardens, stolen at sea.
Fragments of thirteenth-century bricks
returned to land by North Sea tides.
Norman stone from drowned churches
slowly ground to sand. Gravestones
worn wordless by shifting sea-bed gravel.
Rare bones of buried Dunwich burgers
lie naked under cold winter sun.