View From Rhossili Down Poem by C Richard Miles

Like the last guardsman on duty, stood to attention,
Protecting the stark remoteness of Rhossili Bay,
The lone house sits, serene on the green-baize carpet
Of lush marram, surveying the neigh-less white mares
As they gallop, riderless, giddy on the azure racetrack
To the winning-post cliff-face, rearing up in welcome.
Noticing newness all around, he sighs, tired with time,
Aching with age, as Adonis-like surf-gods cavort
With the foam and froth of the wistful sylphs of waves.
Buzz-less bees and floating, bat-winged butterflies,
Hang-gliders hovering, laundered sheets suspended in time,
Waft their way down as if to steal the gold of the beach
From under the care-closed eyes of the once-watchful guard,
That serpentine, sinuous sleeper, carved from bare bedrock,
Resistant to the massed might of pounding ocean.
The gnarled figure of the dreaming, dormant dragon
Of Worms Head rests, unaware of the passage
Of history, awaiting the clarion-call of thunder
From the still-small clouds on the far horizon
That will wake him once more to stand tall
To repel invaders from Gower’s gaunt shoreline.