The winds are blowing in Rest Bay
Whispering as they find their way,
That she is home, come back, set free,
Ageless, and skipping to the sea.
The sands, wiped clean with every tide,
Recall the prints she made, each stride,
Across the journey of her life
Grandmother, daughter, niece, aunt, wife.
The breakers rolling, each by each,
Remember as they wash the beach
So many summer days she came
Every one different, each the same.
Lifting her head, she hears the call:
The winds of heaven — or Porthcawl.
June 3rd 2015.
