Sonnet: The Castle Inn


Bury my bones in an old Welsh pub,
On the Pembrokeshire coast, under floorboards oak,
Consecrated by furze, lichen, sand-blasted scrub,
With stonewalled chimneys baptized by smoke,
I’ll give up my ashes to the waves of the sea,
With a stuffed snowy owl perched on my shoulder,
Wherever the rains weep, that’s where I’ll be,
Thundering my tears into old sandstone boulders,
And rockpools alive with limpets and cockles,
And Islands of penance where sweet Mary stands,
Conspiring with stowaways, stuffed into barrels,
The threshold of sea chewing up the land,
Where my body, half-buried, exposed to the sea-air,
Will be home to the treasures time will lay there.

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