Holm Point

A single
white line
feathering out
in the distance

Leads south
to an airport
way beyond
our coasts

The sun paints
a blinding line
across the surface
of the waveless sea

The Minch nibbles
at our shores
like a faithful dog
at the door

The old bronze spike
hides the reef
and stands guard
over Iolaire's grave

That night was wild
The reef invisible
The waves too powerful
The shore too high and steep

But beguiling as today
at Holm Point it was
the echo and the memory
of that night of sorrow

haunts the shores
where the memorial stands
where over two hundred were lost
whom no one will forget