Colin Bancroft

Standing on this windswept headland you’d never know
That once there was a village here
With a colliery rising like the stacks offshore,
And houses, post office, shop: all disappeared.
Gone too the washing lines that flapped like gulls,
The Sunday morning chapel service
And young kids chasing their way home from school.
All deemed unfit to serve their purpose,
A way of life condemned to the history books.
I suppose it’s natural progression that things change.
Where would we be if everything were stuck
In Time? Still, standing here it feels strange
To think that all things that will ever come to pass
Will end up like these vague outlines parched in grass.