When the pen takes control.

Through freezing wind and stinging hail

the deckhands in their jackets blue.

The Captain, mate and boatswain too

watch rain-lashed sailors fighting sails

as they dance in the Arctic gale.

Clouds clear as the night grows dimmer,

frost on canvas starts to shimmer

the ship now settles on her course

on passage to the frozen North,

following the pale moon’s glimmer.

I noticed how in stark contrast

to all I thought I ever knew

about the proper thing to do

when one finds they will soon be asked

to pin their colours to the mast

and openly declare intent

to stand up for the government

in firm belief our lives may change

after they introduce the range

of vaccines for our safety meant

The tower stands in dark of night

guiding the sailor by its light

and when the shroud of fog comes down

ears are strained to the mournful sound

of the deep-throated siren’s blast

ensuring vessels may safely pass

A scientist’s child,

shocked, we watch their virus grow

world in harmony

For Dartmoor they had forecast snow

But there was one place I should see

That was of interest to me

I made my mind up we should go

Might not be able tomorrow

So then we loaded up the car

No local buses went that far

I’d never visited before

The famous church on old Brentor

Through the ages a shining star

Adopting my favourite languid pose

I casually glanced across the floor

All eyes fixed upon the door

as though waiting for it to close

The air was charged, tensions high,

no one breathed or even dared

to move, whilst a host of people stared

in awe at the now departing pair

so jealous of their regal air