MORRAB GARDENS
In town on Penwith's sheltered southern bay,
Fair pleasant century treasured garden vies
For public's gaze and rest; and children play
Midst trees and plants and wing-ed butterflies.
Its ponds of carp and water lilies, bold
In summer sun and fountain’s daily spray,
Hide well from winter's melancholy cold
To constantly survive and greet each day;
On Sunday's, bandstand musically fills
With beating, puffing, blowing instrument;
Young strolling mothers with their charges thrill
To rhythms, songs and sounds of merriment.
Sweet Morrab, long may you, O garden fair,
A place remain of sweet and scented air.
- Penzance 1950