It faces south,
the little port,
onto the great
Southern Ocean;
nothing but
surging sea
until the ice
of Antarctica.
Inside a breakwater
there is calm
for a few fishing boats,
resting, idle just now,
unaware of former times
when the little port was busy
shipping grain and wool
to the world beyond.
But now it is quiet,
off-season –
a few tourists,
intrepid to the winter storms
raging in from the west,
relishing the change
from their lives
elsewhere.
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