Time idles around Cockerham shore,
Conder and Cocker meander to the sea.
Redshanks drill the patient sand
curlew ploughs the fertile sky.
The Abbey grieves its plundered stone,
impermanent structure gone to seed.

Once winds dispersed vagrant seed,
oceans shifted shore to shore.
Not yet a footprint sealed in stone,
life swelled in the pregnant sea,
lightning seared the savage sky
before ever a redshank drilled the sand.

While redshanks drilled the ancient sand,
man ploughed the soil and broadcast seed,
paid homage to the pagan sky,
cast his net far out from shore,
hunted deep beneath the sea,
fought with weapons carved from stone

knelt before the altar stone.
While redshanks drilled familiar sand,
man navigated hostile sea,
spreading wide his potent seed,
seeking out a western shore,
the Pole Star in the northern sky

Starving ribs beseech the sky
leaning on indifferent stone.
Broken hulls infest the shore
while redshanks pick at acrid sand
polluted now with barren seed
and wait for the returning sea.

The hour glass runs out to sea,
floats minutes to a heavy sky,
splits the second, bursts the seed,
harvests soil from silent stone.
Redshanks pick the moonlit sand
Tide breathes life onto the shore.

Blood of sea, heart of stone,
breath of sky, dream of sand,
renew the seed of Cockerham shore