By Scott Bailey © 2015
Little stone church
Nestled on a hill
Overlooking the sea
Watching over the harbour still
The boats nestled cheek to cheek
And those tossed on the waves
The bell rings out a guiding peal
Above the moss stained graves
And every sailor on the deck
Mouths a silent prayer
The church windows watch their pleas
With a cold and empty stare
The settlement around the church
Huddles to the old stone walls
Strong but cold strange comfort their
As the tolling calls
Older still the hill
Watches the fleeting boats
The flighty homes and towers
Their occupants dust motes
More enduring still
The constant shifting waves
Will eat the hill, huts the boats
Even the very graves
Scott Andrew Bailey - Author 