The Watch

Gráinne Smith

And still they stood, silent,
waiting, on hill and path and pier.
Braced against wind and fate. Watching
for lights dipping in a towering sea.

And still they stood.

Hair whipped against salt ice lips,
no word atween. Barefoot.
Eyes stinging, strained
against the daylight gloom.

And still they stood.

Screaming, the storm snarled
in grim assault. Harried. Battered
on clutched wool-clad hands,
hearts rimed. Bone-chilled.

And still they stood.

Clinging in blind dread,
bairns at skirt, heads buried in wet tweed,
struck dumb, struck dumb,
no words to fill their need.
One gone, lost overboard!
The words fly past on squalling shriek,
no who or when or how.

O God, they pray, they beg, they plead.
Let him return, this once at least.
It's not his time, nor mine, I say,
Give him back, give him back, you heartless bitch,
Give him back this endless darkened day.

And still they stood.

And still they stand.