Bryn Griffiths
Winter at Harlech
This winter’s day,
Closing down now over cold and quiet Harlech,
Blinds the high catch of my evening nets,
Blinds the castle’s eyes in sombre light,
As the sinking sun unreels the night
Where the long tides run, and Time forgets,
In the love and shackle of my seagoing days.
And now the sky breaks to a dying flame,
The winter’s turning in wheels of fire,
That stuns the harpooned sight,
As all the day begins to ebb and tire,
And time-worn towers, standing over sea and plain,
The granite pawns of a forgotten game,
Are caught by February fingers in trawls of mist,
Winding a frozen wake of winter pain,
Where seas of clouds slowly tack and drift,
As I voyage for home and love again.
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