Will you one day, take me far out west

To the coastal paths of Wales

Where Pembrokeshire holds memories

Of sifting sand and sails.

I long to walk with you at Newport sands

To find that golden, shrunken beach

that in childhood days stretched infinitely

For miles beyond my reach.

To seek the seaweed’s gold and green

To smell their salty taste.

To pop the bubbled plastic forms

Like tapioca paste.

Remember too, those rocks of slate

Their hues of brawny blue,

Fierce barriers of ancient weight

In towering solitude.

But most of all I miss the waves

Like gentle curling lace

And wilder days of fearful joy

When seas roared about my face.

What is it then when we are young

That holds our mind in trance

Absorption in a search for shells

Gives time a ghostly dance.

Linden Lynn 3/97

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