The Ferry Man
The Wyre ferry from Knott End to Fleetwood
From across the river comes the boat
The bearded ferry man with fiery eyes
takes our coins for the journey
We are silent as he talks of death
how mourners come with chanted prayers
to scatter ashes on the sea
The further shore emerges from the mist
a place of memories, a shadow land
where the present dreams the past
where from the windows of the great hotel
passengers once watched the sea
and waited for the boat to Scotland
We glimpse them watching still at ground floor windows
and from the corners of our eyes
can see them whirling in the hotel ballroom
The town itself it seems is watching
from cafe windows smudged with rain
and from the water’s edge we watch
the winking lighthouses and empty streets
hear the distant rattle of the trams
then hurry back towards the boat
The tide is falling and we must go with it
sailing from the dreary shore line
we look back towards the beach
to where the tiny woman cast in bronze
looks forever out to sea
watching for her fisherman to return