Among lapping wings and flapping waves,
Peewits sift the silting sands,
Searching for the Turnstone’s worm,
Their cries sweep across the salting pans.
A bird catches oysters unawares,
Rippling mussels from his reflection,
Sanderlings standing in pooling light,
Await the tide to change direction.
Wind-blown weeds and reeds hold sway,
Over creeping, sliding, tidal ooze,
Avocets have a few egrets,
Amongst them and the shy curlews.
Tam and tide await the moon,
To raise them from their deep sea bed,
It neaps and tugs at the chart springs,
Their hidden depths cleansed and dredged.
To the Tide Mill’s pulsing life blood,
From those who work and sail and row,
From those who thrive upon your waters,
More power to your Ebb and Flow.
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