The prospectors

the prospectors 

Audio

and did they come but by three by three,

borne on their sad sighs to photograph me,

and did the filming seem

like the stuff of a dream within a dream;

and although the drones

droned on, and on, and on, upon 

the drizzled beach-ward walk,

their story bowed before the thrones

of the queen of the sea and Davy Jones;

and through the graveyard did they talk

of times gone by, where the angel points

to the tides of time, to the state of the sky and sea;

and what awaits these three king’s of film,

and will they get the story of him,

who walks alone to the sea each day,

with lonely feet on patient grass,

to the grim sea spuming and his swim,

and will they get, with each drone’s pass

the feeling of w hat just may be; may be

the spirit of grey hot blood in a stormy sea,

transfused in a pushing tide at flood;

for their sighs have been stung away, in eyes

that glisten of salted tears upon the raging wind

across his sea, they see their horizons expand,

and the stinging spark of creativity rekindled,

for what was mundane has dwindled, dwindled;

to be replaced by a vista so grand

that the Alex, Cerith, and Henry team 

are dreaming in Jim the Swim’s own dream;

for they have pinched the sleeping dragon,

the Celtic ghosts out in the bay,

and while the drones, drone on and on,

they have reaped the treasure in their film,

which will forever tell of him;

of Jim the Swim in all his glory,

now was there ever such a story,

told with such perceptive purity

and by this team on film laid down 

for everyone in perpetuity.

Was there ever such a productive dream

as the Alex, Cerith, and Henry team?