Around the bay sit meadows sweet
where cow and sheep softly roam
and meandering walls of stone compete
with ramblings of bramble and thorn.
Peebles and shell from centuries past
lie washed and worn upon the beach
high dunes of grass defy the blast
from the Irish sea within their reach.
The aroma from seaweed fills the nose
as it drifts in and out on the tide
and thrift abounds in sweet repose
with flotsam and jetsam alongside.
Abandoned crab shells decorate the sand
while sand hoppers jump with glee
gulls clear up twix sand and land
as curlew prod the sand stealthily.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem