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Poem by Ben Jonson
Porth Ceiriad Bay
Descended to the shore, odd how we left the young girl with us to herself, and went straight to examine the stratified cliffs, forgot her entirely in our interest. You marvelled at the shapes the clockwork sea had worn the stone, talking keenly, until the pace of this random sculpture recalled your age to you, and then its anodynes. And so you turned, pretending youth, courting the girl as if you were a boy again, leaving the wry cliffs to their erosion and me to my observant solitude.
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