The water sits so still and calm,
Cradling the boast as they sleep,
Swaying in the gentle breeze,
The tide begins to creep.
The light on the horizon,
Glows its last farewell,
As the bright white moon has all too soon,
Cast it's nightly spell.
The little lights on lamp posts,
Yawn and flicker on,
The dealings of the daytime,
At last are all but gone.
The wind it carries coldness,
That pierces through the air,
By day the birds will line the rails,
By night they do not dare.
The benches sit alone now,
To contemplate their fates,
Who will they meet tomorrow,
For now they must but wait.
It's here you will find me,
Not sleeping blissfully,
But waiting with the benches,
In the cold on Appledore Quay.
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