A snarling wind that bites and howls
is tearing at the waves,
like vicious hordes of formless ghouls
unleashed from shadowed caves.
The ravaged sky is nimbus grey
with rags of tattered clouds,
that hang above the storm swept bay
like heavy sodden shrouds.
The church still stands alone and strong,
with ancient gothic walls,
of chiselled stone enduring long,
against the coastal squalls.
And from within a song is heard,
a low melodic prayer,
with every softly chanted word,
relieving sorrow’s share.