Doorstep Seascapes.

Living so close to Atlantic rollers Gives poetry motion. Thunderously loud They break, subdued by gigantic boulders Under towering cliffs magesticaly shrouded In swirling mists. Sometimes desolate death To battling boats, lost in galeforce storms. Fishmen know they face ultimate breath If they dare underplay fierce seas before dawn. Yet, under crystal-clear skies, the moors shot With yellows of gorse, on dazzle-white sands Bare-footed walks, with decorum forgot, Give toes golden warmth, feel soft as the bands Of curls in a young girl's hair. Hosts of gulls Appear, beachcombing. The sea, now a bright Emerald green, gently whispers and lulls. Caves now fill with clear gems of sea-blue light. Smugglers abounded here once. Tales now told Of shiploads taken by candlelit tracks And hidden 'til sold. Now surfers strike bold Poses on beachboards, 'tho salt-smells come back To remind us seaweed still fills the Bay As before, when miners dug tin below In underground dark, and never saw day. What hardships beset them we'll never know. Seascapes on doorsteps are idyllic until Negligence teaches that breakers can kill. A pen-picture for Gayle.