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marram grass

TRAETH LLANDWYN

At the water’s gentle edge – that can be

storm-driven, flinging sand, seaweed, pebbles,

eroding the dunes, uprooting the seaward

margins of the forest of planted pines

in whose deepest reaches ravens roost –

my granddaughter stands facing the sea,

as she has most summers of her nine years.

 

In one of the glades of the manmade forest

sibilant with the bay and an off-shore breeze –

along the landward edge of the beach –

someone has hung a length of blue climbing rope

from the one of the tallest trees. Today

she has found it, and arcs above pine cones,

kidney vetch, marram grass, over grains

of sand, subdued, shifting.