Shhhhhh, don’t tell ourselves about the middle page of life.

The restful ease, I’m grateful for. The tranquil marine in sight. 

Hush, keep hidden the inner Inver peace. 

Summer warming winds. Loving living life meets. 

Quieten, and embrace The Royal George coorie corners. 

The vital spark in harbour. The famous oyster trawlers. 

Mute, now discover the menu-less delicious cottage bounty. 

Local fresh seasonal bloom, infused with flavour mighty. 

A murmur of the mystery, the wee stone buildings at the end of Otter Ferry. 

The cattle crossing point. Mary and Flora resting place. It’s teeny stone-built jetty.

Hidden, the warmest you’ll ever meet. Val’s the gal, the best. 

Still steaming from her Whistlefield night, her jigging fiddle fest.

Keep dark, the legacy of 1898, George Bernard Shaw’s holiday calls. 

His waterfront witchcraft vaccine views were formed within these walls.  

Whisper, all those close and loved are all still dancing with full and brilliant fervour.

Our wee clan are twisting, from a crawl to a stumble. Blissfully happy, let’s savour. 

That sun-soaked day in May twenty twelve, it’ll never lose its light. It’s all wrapped up in secrets never written down.  

All fluttering in my head, glowing brightly, imprinted stronger even now. 

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