Porthgain Harbour

This rusting chain is witness to an age
When slate was quarried from these ancient cliffs
And where one hundred quarrymen earned a wage.
This harbour, filled with steamboats, schooners, skiffs,
Became a hive of industry, back when
Demand for road-stone, roofing slates and bricks
Was at its peak, then never seen again.
In modern times it’s in the tourist mix;
From far and wide they come; their aim – “The Shed”—
A posh fish restaurant.  Book in advance,
Secure your table, or disappointed
And hungry be, and float in fresh fish trance.
The smell of fish and chips wafts from the galley.
Move on, quick! Away!  We dare not dally.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2018

Poem

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