Poetry Map of Scotland: poem no. 386

St. Abbs and the Wrasse

The day was fine and
there was    joy
he held it aloft for me to see—a Wrasse.
Sun shone through its webbed spikes
a crown on a glaze of reds, reflecting;

The old sandstone cliffs.
Salt corroded harbour bollards.
Roofs of red pantiles.
And a phone box perched sentinel on the path.

He knelt
bowed his head to the sea
and lowered the Wrasse back to be
a jewel beneath the surface.

The day was fine and
the joy three-fold;
his for the catch,
mine for the witness
and the fish—
for the    sea.

Ruth Gilchrist

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