I am sat on a bench, on the seafront, alone.
Just me, and the sea, and the old weathered stone.
Of course, there are tourists, who wander on by,
Watching silver winged gulls, as they soar through the sky.
There are fishing boats hunting for food, in the bay.
Whilst pleasure craft hoist up their sails for the day.
I can see the face painters, and bead makers too,
As I watch pale faced addicts who head for the loo.
A solitary policeman who's aspect is stern,
As he dreams of promotion, and what he might earn.
A parking attendant comes slithering by,
Making sure nothing misses his keen gimlet eye.
Young men on their skateboards come thundering past,
Looking sideways at anglers, whose lines have been cast.
I am sat, on a bench, on the seafront, alone,
It's a solitary life, but I don't think I'll moan!!
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Owain Glyn
