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
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