Nostalgia

There it stands, desolate and alone
That roofless shell where the winds
Still whisper of the past
When  scampering children's squeals
 And wheeling seabirds' cries
Rose thinly through the air.
A thatched croft  from which a healthy living was scraped
A shirt-sleeved man, braces showing,
 Bald pate bunneted against the sun,
Bent over to tend his plot
An aproned woman cheerfully shooing away the hens
To collect the eggs for the evening meal
Beside a silvery sea stretching
To the horizon
 Hiding the city lights and its imagined pleasures
Until those dreams drew the young away
Watched sadly  by  the elderly pair
Their exodus damning
The island to its desolation
Where still  the birds' cries squeal 
And the wind  through the grass softly whispers
 Surrounding the now  silent croft
 In the salt sharp air
What homely  pleasures such a life once offered 
Now the graveyard of fading memories
While the once busy city streets
Stand empty drained of life
As the virus continues to take its toll

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