waking again at Lulworth after many years
a drift of broken promises washed up in my ears
promises – broken promises – as empty as those shells
the beach bum paints so luridly and then for pennies sells
to children – wide-eyed children – to whom they are worth more
than promises made by adults who make them to ignore
waking again at Lulworth – sea chains round my feet
are far more real than promises some adult did not keep
Another Way of Saying 