was written below the photograph of Penarth Beach
where hundreds gathered on a sun-kissed day
back in 1902 when the world was so different.
There were no bikinis or shorts,
hats were donned to avoid burning.
I stare deeply and imagine the noise
of seagulls, the laughter of girls and boys
but this time in the sun has passed
just like the writer of the postcard,
I wonder if she lived to a ripe old age.
Today the beach is all but desertrd
yet I picture the ghosts from long ago
waiting for the ferry on a summer afternoon.
Oh, we are all like waves heading for the shore
brief moments of power ...and then no more.