Snowdon's flat back propped against
God's mantlepiece of sky
summed up the holiday experience.
Away from the post card facade
it was all something of a
cultural sham.
Behind the gaudy colours seldom seen elsewhere,
beyond the beach balls, the buckets and spades,
the inflatable sea creatures
Mums and Dads still argued over whatever,
children felt uneasy or unhappy,
and dogs got lost while the Welsh rain fell.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem