Now landing on the darkling shore
Mooncrested waves upon the sand
Stones crunching, as if ancient lore
Psammead stirring under land
Lantern lit, the smugglers come
Barnacled boats upon the beach
Chests of contraband for some
And gold for crew's share each
Night riders galloping in night
Away from the Custom spies
Upon the dunes, out of sight
Hid from the Excise eyes
Drink beneath a smugglers moon
With yo ho ho, a merry tune.
An outrageous political intervention from William Bailhache - In September, the States Assembly will have it's first opportunity to vote on one of the recommendations of the Independent Jersey Care Inquiry when it d...
12 hours ago