A Cornish Tide

I’ve had a few holidays down in Cornwall (although I didn’t go this year). I love the style of climbing on granite and I’m always suprised how quiet it is. Cornwall definitely is a place of its’ own and has a unique character. The piece below is inspired by my trips down there…

“Heading southwest for granite, to race the Cornish tide;
Run-out gear and greasy cracks build a sense of pride.
Deserted mines and moorland, a Celtic county true;
Tin, zinc and copper, a wild Atlantic view.

Heading southwest for granite, to endure the storms and sun;
Tape your hands and tie-in quick, upwards we shall run.
Brambles and gorse a-plenty, exploit the sandy soil;
Clutching on, gale force winds, a mirror for our toil.

Heading southwest for granite, to explore a forgotten zawn;
Drinking cider in the evening, next day we look forlorn.
Stooped old pubs hold open fires, packed with rowdy folk;
All wooden beams and warships, built with a heart of oak.

Heading southwest for granite, to watch a meteor shower;
A lifetime of memories, created in an hour.
Drink a tea and watch the surf, explore a coastal track;
Like a Cornish tide, swift or swallow, we’ll be coming back.”

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