Les Silhouettes

The sea is flecked with bars of grey,The dull dead wind is out of tune,And like a withered leaf the moonIs blown across the stormy bay.

Etched clear upon the pallid sandLies the black boat: a sailor boyClambers aboard in careless joyWith laughing face and gleaming hand.

And overhead the curlews cry,Where through the dusky upland grassThe young brown-throated reapers pass,Like silhouettes against the sky.