Dripping Cove
The running iron stove
That bleeds its red blood
From the islands heart
Out to the orange buoy
Who has floated like a gob stopper
In the rivers mouth for years
And that Pirates Bay
With smuggler’s caves
Where the sea like a milky basin sways
In the murmuring moonlight it waves
And its murderous intentions
Below the looks
Of monks from above their books
Below the sounds of the farmer’s plough
And the hob nailed boots of soldiers on their way
Dripping cove, ebbs out its life blood precious
Mixes the islands blood flow with the seas salty spray
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