To be honest not much remains of Cardigan Castle by the Teifi transformed from wood to stone by Lord Rhys. I pass by his wooden statue and giant seat where an eagle perches, centuries ago you could hear the sounds of music and poetry performed in these grounds which seem to drift in the sultry summer air. I saunter to the Kitchen Gardens now restored to their former glory producing apples, soft fruit and vegetables with common white butterflies flickering. It is these gardens which thrill me the most, in my mind I picture many a ghost. |
Sue Clayton
23/7/2022 04:10:07 am
I love tales of old castles, wherever they may be, well captured in your poem, and imagine the ghosts that might roam their grounds. Comments are closed.
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PoetryThis is the section where fiction prose becomes something else. We still expect the poems to be short, though – sonnets, perhaps, or around that length at the very most. Archives
February 2023
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