The path to Penarth pier

I strolled over the cliffs of Penarth,

Feeling alive away from city stress.

The sun broke through moody bruised skies,

Creating a celestial searchlight,

Over the grey channel waters,

Turning it a sparkling silver,

A shower burned my face but I did not care,

I walked alone in a wintry air.

Greeting hardy dog-walkers,

And admiring the stunning vista before my eyes,

Weathered Steep Holm and Flat Holm.

And beyond the alluring Somerset hills,

I passed a framed work of Sisley’s ,

Painting of a tree. Another one stood there now,

As I made my way to the fine new pier,

And then the sky suddenly became clear.

Remnants of a rainbow blessing the ether,

I ventured inside the pavilion.

On the walls photographs from the past,

Back to 1895 when it was originally built,

To 1931 when fire ate part of it away.

I felt alive, problems melted like spring snow,

Thinking there was no better place to be,

Than Penarth Pier viewing the winter sea.

Guy Fletcher