Gift

I am being given a gift sitting here on the rock,
The falling tide here at Cemlyn is gifting such joy
Just offshore is Craig yr Iwrch
Here the grey seals haul out, haul is too energetic a word
Simply find a ledge and wait to the tide to do the work, slowly
There will be twenty or thirty seals, grey bananas on the black rock
By the time the tide turns again
It the end of summer and the terns are getting ready to disperse,
But just now, just at this moment the tide streams are carrying a host of little fish
And the Morwennol are diving and shrieking between me and the Craig
Sea Swallow, the welsh call, the graceful and raucous terns that crash in the sea
and return with a sand eel perhaps for the adult chicks resting on the rocks round the headland
As the tide falls the Cormorants set off for their fishing grounds  
Almost as if chips of the black Craig yr Iwrch take wing
Here are the dinosaurs
The day moves on and slowly it seems the reverse happens and I
become more attached to my rocky seat, but I still catch the call of an oyster catcher
The flickering movement of the rock that is a ringed plover
The small flock of redshank that flit across the sea
I am home again at last, the wind carries a softness, my broken spirit begins to heal.