Kirkcaldy Esplanade January 2011
by Bruce Dick
Grey gulls on tattered wings, hang suspended like kites above the buttressed sea walls,
Railings, black, and as cold as death to the touch,weep tears of bloodied rust, staining the concrete walkway.
The sea,indifferent to the world, and sucked empty of any colour, ominously watches and waits for the unwary,
The evening sky, bruised purple like a losing boxer, cuts streaked with crimson, glowers over the esplanade before falling away to the west.
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