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.