AFON MENAI


Immemorially, at the ebb tide’s turn,

they pull for the bank, moor, wade, cast and wait.

(Terns flock, screeching). They haul the full net

to the edge of the sand. Kneeling, they pluck out

the shrimps, prawns, crawfish and return the rest.

The water slowly rises about them.

 

 

 

, , , , , , , , , , , , ,

  1. No comments yet.
(will not be published)

  1. No trackbacks yet.