A few weeks ago I was on a family holiday in South Wales, on the Gower peninsula, a very nice part of the world I had hardly ever been to. One day somebody suggested we went for the day to Laugharne ( pronounced 'Larne' if you didn't know - which I didn't. I also didn't know it was where Dylan Thomas wrote much of his work, and - well, see what you think...
The other day I went to Laugharne;
a town I’d never seen
or heard of; but when I got there
was captured by the scene.
Laugharne had it all: sea, shore and castle,
portrayed like painted pictures.
The town serene, the people quaint
S’ though written in the scriptures.
A man came once, who stayed to live,
and work, as through God’s hands.
A poet, author, playwright, now
revered across our lands.
Strange to say – I was moved too;
I understood his calling.
He missed his bus, and stayed on there
Into Laugharne’s spell was falling.
So who knows how this way will go?
My strange but moving day.
Will I come back? And pick up pen?
Laugharne’s magic call? I may...