A Walk at Pwll Du

There's a faint smell of coconut in the air,
it's the Gorse flower in bloom, touch it if you dare.
It reminds me of summer and suntan cream,
today though, there's no warmth in the sun's beam.
I round the bend in the lane and descend to Pwll Du.
It calls to me.
The light grey Pebbles roll and play
in the surf's relentless flay.
The stream has the power to change the scene,
it runs deep, 'neath the stones, unseen.
Not much sand on this strip of land.
People fiddle and faff until they're happy they won't hurt their bones
when in summer they have to sit upon the stones.
They clack and echo as you walk upon their surface,
Disturbing the valley's relative calmness.
A couple of white cottages nestle below the hill,
practicably inaccessible - if you have deliveries - your heart must stand still!
Mum said "During the war, one cottage was a Cafe,
fresh eggs would not be rationed and were on the menu daily".
Now they're holiday homes for those that like to roam.
Carry on walking, no flagging.
Watch your footing, no tumbling,
on to where pirates used to stash their trove
at a little place called Brandy Cove.

©Kris Prevel
March 2013