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The dead of a Cornish night

During the day their souls encased
By the seagulls that scour the shore
At night released into the mist
They come looking for their treasures

During the day harassing tourists
Swooping for fries and ice-creams
At night they haunt Segal's pictures
Watching through his eyes in the Sloop

Coastline vultures and buzzards
Defacing walls and windows at will
Searching through cellars and alleys
Re-tracing ways to lost hoards

They stand off-shore behind the breakwater
Waiting, watching, expecting the cloak
That the mist will bring them to view
Inside all the windows and unlocked doors

They scour your soul
Invading your mind
Touching your cheek
Unhinging your sleep

At night they look through you
To see if you have their trove
Daily they cruise around and overhead
Choosing suspects for a nights marauding

Godrevy's flicker outlines their silhouette
As thousands invade the artists' shore
They call it The Dead of Night
I hope to awaken at dawn

 

by Steve Savage

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