Tonight I walked along the estuary of my youth,
Saw water colour landscapes of hope and fear
Watched the family outline in the surf,
Smelt the kelp and tasted salt once more,
Heard the white noise of waves breaking at the bar,
The tinkle of dinghy bells, the relentless nagging of the gulls,
The flap of ice cream banners in deserted cabins,
And witnessed the sun’s last defiant blaze,
As a crescent moon rose above Tyrau Mawr.
A November evening
A pocketful of birthday money
Waiting at the old signal box
(pronounced the Anglo-Saxon way),
Shivering, happy and ambitious.