Perched high,
Standing guard
Over an ancient harbour.
Market Jew Street
Runs steeply uphill,
Wanting to be chic,
It fails.
Populated with charity shops
That look as if they need charity,
Shops that boast,
'We buy Gold',
The nearest the small town gets to Pirates
These days.
Turn sharp left,
Into Chapel Street,
And the atmoshere changes.
Historic Chapel Street,
Falling sharply,
Called by the sea.
Littered with art galleries
And quaint antique shops.
The Egyptian house,
Decorated to please any visiting Pharohs,
Though,they are few and far between
These days.
Visitors wander,
Japanese, clutching Nikons,
Germans, with efficient mobile phones,
But no signal.
Englishmen in long shorts,
Or short longs,
On this cold October day.
Past the Admiral Benbow,
Ancient hostelry,
Beneath which,
Tunnels run to the sea.
On cold winter nights
It is said,
If you listen carefully,
You can hear barrels being rolled
Up from the sea.
Down the old slipway,
Back to the sea,
Beware of the black dog
A sign of evil.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Owain Glyn
