An ordinary Tuesday, the nine to half five
Another day full of dull chores
A note pinned on the door, no car in the drive
He read it and sped for the shore
A deserted car park at the nature reserve
His tears and a screech of the tyres
The slam of a door, so many raw nerves
Adrenaline fuelling his fire
No lights, no camera, just action
Marching past the golf course and beyond
To the place where they’d felt the attraction
And he’d been at the top of Le Monde
Sand filling his polished brown work shoes
As he slips slides his way down the dunes
He kicks out at an old bottle of booze
And looks up to the man on the moon
No fairytale ending, though it had the beginning
A spring rainbow, now winter’s despair
The black clouds above showing no sign of thinning
Reflecting his worries and cares
Staring dead ahead right at the Kingdom
Lights twinkling like rows of cat’s eyes
A disturbing new hymn sheet he’d sing from
As he watched the waves fall and then rise
Soaked cotton now part of his fibre
His heart beat out of his chest like a drum
The water yelled “please step inside Sir”
And soon they would become one
The Bay now so gloomy, like an old grieving Mother
An eerie void where it once shone so bright
Old Aberlady, she whispers goodbye to another
As surface bubbles burst in the moonlight