Wednesday, 26 May 2010

Welcome to Holy Island, Lindisfarne

The road disappears, the tarmac's under the tide.

The Priory ruin is roofless, the wall's fallen down.

The cafe is closed, the van's shuttered up.

The shop empties at noon, the door sends you away.

The tourists have departed, the shuttle bus stopped.

The castle toilets are locked, the key back in the drawer.

The flowers aren't in bloom, the gardeners have left.

The lime kilns discarded, the gate stays shut, bolted.

The island's cut off.

The gospels are gone.