Posted by: mynaturaldiary | December 24, 2016

Christmas Eve at Whitby

At Christmas I no more desire a rose
Than wish a snow in May’s new-fangled mirth;
But like of each thing that in season grows.

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And in the fading cold of Christmas Eve, Whitby stands silhouetted, with gulls crossing the skies. The sea looks cold.

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Some madd’uns go swimming in that on Boxing Day


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