And the Gower has got them both.
With it's cliffs so grey and golden sands,
Farmers in fields in natures green lands.
Country lanes that turn and twist,
Commons that glitter with morning mist.
Fields full of natures vedges,
Neatly surrounded with prickly hedges.
Fields that run up on cliffs so high,
Interrupted by the seagulls cry,
The bird is yonder where field meets sky,
The Gowers the place for me.
Where rough seas sometimes show their power.
But even in it's roughest form,
At the highest peak of any storm.
With lightning brightening all white foam,
There's that feeling you are home from home.
With thunder from sky and breakers,
Sea-walls become salt rain makers.
And when the storm is all through,
The sea will return to its brilliant blue,
Seagulls return and in there cry,
Say all is clear all is dry.
Don't cry to me bird so free,
The Gower is here in this heart of me.
The Gowers the place for me.
