The first pint sinks down
Gliding past tastes and memories
The ship, first port of call for every holiday
Smells of sailors battered catch
Waft between clunks of pumps
from own brewed ale
Salty sea air whispers possibilities
as bums hit bench and we gaze out to serenity
Kick off flip flops and curl toes around Sand mounds
The Castle in the distance calls to us
fern topped dunes and hiding shacks
Golf and Grey's inn over the horizon
warmth growing within
knowing home again
Relax
Close eyes
Breathe
It
In
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