Watching’ by Francis, looking at Eighty miles an hour gales over the Crowns by Kurt Jackson
They watch the cliff-top Choughs and they wait,
Mother and daughter,
Arms wrapped around like a strong sea wall.
Quiet and peaceful.
“There’s no place like the sea.”
Dad always said,
But he’s been away so long.
Australia’s as far away as that vast, grey sky.
“Securing their future.”
Dad always said.
They watch the Choughs.
The sea slowly erodes their home