A faint smell of coconut hangs in the air,
It's the Gorse blooming, touch it if you dare.
It reminds me of summer and suntan cream,
But today, there's no warmth in the sun's beam.
It's a rough terrain, this lane
Round the bend, I descend
To Pwll Du bay, it calls to me,
Light grey pebbles roll and play
In the surf's relentless flay.
White cottages nestle below the hill,
Coal-men of old, delivered with skill
Now, making a delivery must seem a misery
When you see it's inaccessibility
Once, one cottage was a Cafe,
With fresh eggs on the menu daily.
Now some are holiday homes
For those who like to roam.
Walk upon the pebbles
Shatter the peace and harmony
Listen to the echoes
Reverberating around the valley
An innocuous little stream?
Well no; it flows fast and deep,
Stones will landslide in a heap
You have to be wary, it seems
Walk on to the next bay
Along the meandering pathway
On to where pirates used to stash their trove
At a little place called Brandy Cove.
©Kris Prevel
2nd poem
March 2014
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