The Welsh weather keeps our skin perfect,
Never too much sun, but when it comes, a little wind to douse it’s affect,
So as not too feel too warm,
And then changing to overcast,
As shadows dance over the coast,
Creating sunbeams, and shadows, and images,
Only to be apprehended by an imagination, or a paparazzi camera.
Yet yearning for Gainsborough, Constable, or some Hudson River artist to daub it, and capture it forever.