It's a warm spring afternoon, as i sit on Silloth prom,
And gaze across the Solway Firth, Criffel seems so near,
On the lower slopes patchwork fields of green and brown,
Soft white bellied clouds shroud the summit to the treeline,
White dots of houses on the shoreline, sparkle in the sun,
Towers of Chapel Cross puff clouds of steam in the air,
The incoming tide laps upon the shingle with a long hiss,
Seagulls seem to glide forever on invisible currents of air,
Their shrill shrieks at odds with the peace of the day,
Up the channel with the full tide a grain boat steams,
Into the dock to discharge it's cargo of wheat into the mill,
A solitary multi coloured windsurfer races, sail into the wind,
Stark contrast to natures blended colouring,
The air chills as the sun suddenly disappears behind the clouds,
And the breeze freshens, whipping the sea into white topped foam,
Time to walk home before the sea mist descends.