Leaving Whitby

To Whitby town, we go every year
It’s a lovely journey but we’re glad when we’re here
As the sun rises on the river, the water ebbs and flows
The Abbey casts its shadow on the seaside town below.
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Families fill the beaches, they begin to thrive
Tourists with dogs of every shape and size
From Great Dane to Bichon Frise
Sniffing each other with consummate ease
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Twice a year in spring and fall
A fashionable darkness surrounds us all
Locals look on without any shock
Others stare, and their jaws drop
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When darkness falls, it is their town now
See what you’ve done Mr Stoker, please take a bow
With the setting sun, the Goths come alive
Until Monday comes and their nine to fives
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We looked up at the steps
And we both shared a frown,
One hundred and ninety nine! 
-We’d try them on the way down!
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  We throw a stone, and know our wish was granted
As we we are holding hands in this place, so enchanted
Hand in hand, at the end of this old pier
Our worldly worries begin to disappear
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When you walk upon these ancient streets
Pause for a moment, close your eyes
The town, the people their history
You will start to visualise
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With heavy hearts our bags are packed
As we walk toward the railway track
One last glance as we board the train
It's in our hearts, so we'll be back again
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Home again, we shut our eyes
The memories reappear
The seagulls squawk as we eat our chips
At the end of Whitby pier.