On this grim coast, ships come to grief:
our waters and our tricky tides
are treacherous and full of traps.
Sailors do not rely on maps
alone, but say their prayers besides.
We watch them perish on our reefs.
We are sea-people, scale and fin,
who distrust strangers: salty brine
is what we know. Those who survive
our ragged rocks do rarely thrive.
Does our geography combine
to lock them out or lock us in?
Richard Fleming
