╰☆☆June☆☆╮'s photos with the keyword: beach huts

The Beach Huts, a poem by Mike Bliss The weathered wood and peeling paint Hints of days of glory past When I skipped along the promenade Past postcards beyond my ken. But that was then, and now is now They've had a lick of paint, but Beach huts hark back to a quieter time Of quiet children, well-mannered gentlemen. We await the melted ice-cream cones Leering from the sky And corporate-suited gentlemen Watching traditions die. But it doesn't have to be this way We can keep this place alive With silly hats and fish and chips Seagulls, and you and I.