A Poem by MarkPriestley


Author: MarkPriestley
Created: October 20, 2013 at 03:32 pm
Upload Type: Poem, M (16+)  
Category: General/Other | General/Other | General/Other
Upload Stats: 5 Stars by 1 users with 1 comments and 181 views

Reflecting on Whitby.  

Fog rolling cross the
haunted hallow'd turf,
where Ceadmon composed
so much, now lost.

Mist hidden, the clarion gulls,
unseen
ring their laments over the
rain cloaked roofs.

Dark Esk flows
through the town below,
built on the blood of whales
and harvest of herring shoals,
the fame of Cook,
and Bram's bloody Count.


© MarkPriestley - all rights reserved

Author Notes


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Comments & Reviews



Stella
October 20, 2013
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liked very much
as beautiful as Whitby is , this haunted place always reminds me of Dracula...a lovely tribute to a Yorkshire town..


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