in front of me stands the glorious pier
its silver hue shining on this sun-kissed day.
Cumulous clouds like Middlearth mountains
frame Weston and the Somerset hills,
my heart beats faster, the sight of the sea
always brings forth the child hidden in me.
A boat leisurely glides
on the somnolent blue water,
a reflection of an Arabian sky.
Seagulls drift under wispy clouds
their reflections like spirits on the pebbled shore.
Many people are enjoying the view
under a postcard sky painted deep blue.
There is an old timer in wheelchair
lost in thought, her soul free for a while
and children throwing pebbles with the tide
ebbing on this Saturday afternoon.
But it was much more crowded
in Victorian times now long before
and I sense their ghosts...strolling on the shore.