THE sun sets over the Somerset Hills
Making them appear as if on fire
As a tanker drifts across the channel
Under a postcard-blue winter sky.
But storms are not far away and waves
Explode against Nell’s and Friar’s Point.
Excited dogs run free on Whitmore Bay
As the sunset sky turns back into grey
And the pirate’s flag flutters furiously.
O’Shea’s and Mario’s cafes are closing,
Just an elderly couple sit outside now
As the bright azure sky fades,
Sinister darkness soon to descend
Leaving only ghosts to stroll on the vast sand
And as the wind becomes ever more raw
I listen to the silver ocean roar.
Guy Fletcher
Pantmawr
Cardiff
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