The grey day comes with wind and rain
and gone are all the people from the city.
The chippies wait in vain,
their time is over for the season.
Seagulls pick the last of the potato chips
and in the port are ships
waiting for some weather that won’t come.
There, on a bench under the hero’s statue
a man is writing poetry, but he is almost done
to have some lunch, a seagull waits to share his bread,
both glad to know that Summer on the coast is gone.