The tides up.
The hand of the Dee
runs silvery fingers
through the encroaching marsh.
Reaching out
Seeking the old shore
so long denied it.
Those days are gone
Those days when
The river lapped against the prom.
The sea wall now is just a kerb
that keeps the masses from the birds.
Through distant channel
The river rushes to the sea.
And in the distance, beyond the marsh
The Dee can be seen guarding
Against the march of the Welsh.
Yet the march
of time
goes on.
The pink and turquoise veil of sunset
draws gently across the evening sky.
The grey mountains darken.
The silver river fades.
The air chills.
And the tide slinks unseen
Back out to the sea.
(Parkgate is now a small village on what was once the banks of the Dee. Before the marsh took over it was an important sea port especially for boats to Ireland. It was from here that Handel set off for Dublin for the premiere of his famous oratorio The Messiah. There is even a story that the actual first – and unofficial – performance was in Parkgate while he was waiting for sufficiently clement weather to make the crossing.)