The sea at Whitby throws up cold sea salt
Determined to make blinding us its tool
We self blame but is attack our fault
When deep North waters try a fresh assault?
The sea at Whitby throws up its own salt
The bones of Captain Cook writhe in his vault
As children wind in masks down to their school
The dark deep sea at Whitby tastes of salt
Preserves drowned sailors, making of them ghouls

In my despair I felt that I was stuck
Paralysed by  grief and guilt I failed
By the end I had tried every trick

From prayer unthought to deeps of logic black
My  life, my engine ,juddered off the  rails
I hated God and of “his” Church was  sick

Starving  and alone I was in shock
The death of one I loved   had made me frail
By the end I had tried every trick

I felt  love’s arms around me,  death to block
I knew   this goodness,  why else would I wail?
I   thought I hated God  but Love had struck

Warm and golden light  that  did me hold
Where are you now when refugees  die cold?
Kind despair  that  made me long time sit
By the end I knew  Love needs no trick