DESTINATION WALES


They come, visitors
From Tardebigge and Dagtail End,
From Sambourne and Headless Cross,
Escapees for the week,
Middle England migrating to Mid-Wales –
A murmuration of camper vans
And glue-pot jalopies inescapable,
People watching people watching people.

What they find could never be replicated
In England’s pastoral dells:
White horses stampeding
Onto Borth Beach,
Frothing across pebbles;
Cader Idris scanning disbelief
To eclipse the sky;
Red kites soaring in the wide-brimmed sunset.

Of course the lager’s just the same,

And petrol costs as much,
And hills are just as leg-heavy.
But there is a magic
That may not be denied.

Saturday becomes Monday,
Tuesday slips into Thursday,
And all too soon the farewells.
Sad tears flow with the Severn
All the way back to the Midlands.

Once, a fragment of Paradise
Broke away,
And splashed down to form
The Dyfi Estuary:
And God decided to leave it
In place.

(c) Michael Newman