St Ives

By the curve of the bay where the sea turns to glass,St Ives tumbles downward like petals from grass.White cottages lean in a jumble of charm,With windows that blink in the light’s golden arm.

Narrow lanes wander in ribbons of stone,Past doorways of colour and gardens well-grown.The harbour sits quiet with boats painted bright,While seagulls call softly through salt-scented light.

There’s magic in how the sun falls on the sand,And how every shadow feels gentle and grand.Painters once followed the light to this shore,And many still linger — they cannot want more.

Oh St Ives, you’re small but your heart is so wide,A pocket of wonder where sea meets the tide.With your crooked white houses and sky-coloured view,You feel like a secret the ocean once knew.