now a rowing boat is planted in the flower bed
and a large boat snuggles against the harbour wall
although skeletal wrecks still remain.
Oh, it feels so fine to return
with the fresh wind caressing my brow
listening to the crows and seagulls screech,
it is low-tide on Barry Harbour beach
and the sun creates jewels in the Channel
as a tanker languidly slides across,
a few dogs and their guardians roam.
The Quantock hills are shrouded in sea mist,
the little estuary sedate, shallow and silver
with transient miniature lakes
on the sand which is darkened by the sea,
waves of tranquillity roll over me.