Dylan Thomas Spotting

I was in New Quay, Wales

Where seven dolphins pop up and again

They earn their revenue by diving and leaping

I see three cavorting near fishing vessels

But my eye turns to the Black Lion

Which states of all the watering holes

This was the one favoured by Dylan

And while waiting for the T five

Which arrives at 11.54 or there about

I saw a terrace property called Fern Hill

I was thinking of the Thomas I used to love

The one I read, the book I gave to Heribert

And then about Dylan on his trail

From Inn, tavern, pub, to the hedge

I am never such how to tease language

From this, but there was an old fat buzzard

On the fence, it seemed like a scholar

You might find in a cottage or at the bar

It might start with have you ever heard

Of the storm, and when the ship with no name

Sank, and with a twinkle in the eye, for another pint

You will never hear the rest, only in the graveyard.