I view a middle-aged woman who halts
as she wanders over the golden sands
of magical Whitmore Bay.
She makes the sign of the cross
softly talking to herself
and then she's on her way again
to the sound of a seagull's lament.
I saunter to the water's edge
observing placid June waves sizzle
and stars which seem to sparkle in the sea
then venture to Marco's Cafe
where the same lady sits as if a ghost,
maudlin eyes fixed on the South Wales coast.