Autumn in Fifty Years...

See that white cottage on the headland?
Its foundations clinging to the cliff edge?
We'll end up there, one day, you and I.
We'll sit by open windows and look out
On the curve of ferns and the expanse
Of autumn-grey waves.
A november wind will rattle the panes
As you stir sugar into your porridge
And I pour the tea.

We'll wait for Christmas.
Cardboard boxes full of candles and tinsel
Already cluttering the hallway.
Waiting for the house to smell of pine trees.
The sound of children scrambling down the stairs
Carols on the radio, wood smoke and shiny ribbon.
Echoes of many Christmases before.

All these youthful days will be forgotten then
As we look out onto those autumn waves.
These days of worry and uncertainty will be
Just a distant memory as we sit there,
Eating breakfast, in that cottage,
It's foundations clinging to the cliff edge
We will wonder why we spent so much time worrying,
When it all turns out alright in the end.
When gulls glide throught the sea mist
And autumn light paints the ferns gold.

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Very rough draft of a poem that came into my head this afternoon when I was out walking on the coast and saw a little cottage right on the cliff edge.  All comments, good and bad, are greatly appreciated.  I never know how to get the rhythm right with poetry so comments are particularly grateful on how to improve it.  Auto GPs are on to encourage reviews!!  I will review your work in return.  Thanks x