Why aye,lass

Aye,Morecambe Bay ,they crossed at times by horse
The boatman knew the tides and river’s course.
The shape of  Langdale Pikes   were seen ahead
And kept back  travellers’  fear of river bed,
There were quicksands,spirits and much worse-
Premonitions of a Chinese curse.

Yet as we stand and gaze who feels remorse?
Cockle pickers all sent here by force.
Not tortured except by what was never said
We  know such  silence  fills a soul with dread.
The death, the grief, the hearse
Ah lass, Morecambe Bay.

Across the sands lie Cartmel and Furness
Ships were built by men  with tenderness
Now all the  yards lie empty and quite dead
While Barrow’s streets  provide men with a bed,
The  streets were  children played affect  my breath.
Beautiful and  sad,oh, Morecambe Bay.
Oh Morecambe Bay betrayed,they caught their death