FROM the rocks of the Barrage I view,

The immutable cliffs of Penarth,

The flood defences like guards,

On the choppy blue-grey March Channel.

Truculent clouds create a giant halo,

And an eye-squinting silver corridor,

Stretches to the horizon, it’s a sight,

To make me pause and stare at Nature’s might.

It is quiet here early in spring,

As seagulls glide on wrinkled water,

Or soar up into the sky as I stroll,

Onwards until I reach Penarth,

The cool breeze so refreshing,

Blowing cobwebs from my soul.

I have an ice cream on fine Penarth Pier

Exhausted but glad to have made it here.

Guy Fletcher

Pantmawr

Cardiff