Harwood

Many a times I have been to Harwood Point. When the travel bug bites my feet My eyes pine for the marine froth In the May’s summer heat I pack in my kitbag the barest cloth. At Harwood Point The river runs in turbulent progress Maddened in the pursuit of the sea’s embrace! From Harwood Point The river would carry me to the sea. When the sun spills blood on the river The vessel would leave Harwood’s wooden jetty! As that small port diminishes from my sea bound way It sets me to brood. Who was this Harwood? Why this Point bears his name? As the vessel picks up steam I fall into a deep dream. J.T. Harwood 1831. Some British Surveyor Lost in the pages of archived Register Laid to rest in the dust of fame But lives his name To this day On my sea bound way A name without a face Where the river runs for the sea’s embrace!