They all go there in the end, the special ones;
Placed carefully as prized shells arranged by a quiet child.
Each one a precious find from the sea that sighs in that jewel-bright place
Where loves still live
Cocooned in emerald and blue.
Some swim with her there above swaying eel grass,
Salt drops tickle the goose pimples
On younger arms
That breast the water’s cool embrace,
Anchored always in shining days.
History and magic flow to and fro
Between those headlands, named like knights
Whose rocky feet withstand the surging waves and din.
And Morgawr won’t come sniffing in
Under scudding moonlight
Until rare winds from the East
Shake the ancient oaks
And tear the lapping peace.
*Morgawr is a mythical sea monster supposed to prowl the waters off Falmouth in Cornwall. Sightings have occasionally been reported.