High Tide


The Strand Laugharne

Maytime swallows skim the rivers scalloped bank
with squeaky pramwheel quarrelling
and bead the wires with golden necks outstretched
bared creamy breast and scythe wings drooping;
jackdaws in glossy top-hat black grey ribanded
guard in graceful glide the turret’s top:
with yellow shawl and fine red millinery
chaffinches bend dandelions for their frothy crop.

The heron stretches his neck with lazy arrogance,
shakes out his silken scarf and spears the sky,
with drooping feathers unfurled he swoops aloft
his broad wings barely beating in their clambering.

Out on the bay boats play on the high tide’s timeliness
where the sun breaks diamonds from their thrashing wakes,
skiers on invisible ties swing through spray curtains
and hanging from a silken rose a man walks the sky.
A necklace of strollers in bright summer colours
bloom the cliffside path in endless sway
and children’s voices lost in time and magic
chattering among birds and brightness .. hymn the day.


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