Dismantled, Deserted…
Mousehole, deserted. Dismantled, stark,
Sits wary above a harbour of slick mud and deposited weed.
Plain dwellings, functional, adequate, cold
Hide their meagre occupants, the Cornish creed…
Tethering ropes slumber in fetid slime,
Their vessels rendered lame by a sombre low tide.
Masts reach upwards feebly, stripped and crude,
Their sails furled, their vanity denied…
Mousehole smacks of unmitigated toil,
It bares itself, bleak, for life is undoubtedly hard.
Not the attraction the holiday destination is now,
Or the pretty view upon a purchased postcard…
Pete Ray
Autumnal masts, stripped of sail, abject mud and plain
buildings give this old image of Mousehole, Cornwall, a dismantled, deserted feel…
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