Clovelly

In Clovelly, where the cobblestones whisper tales of yore,
Steeped in history, along the Devon shore.

Herring fishermen once walked these lanes,
Echoes of their laughter, their joys, and their pains.

Nestled in cliffs, a village so fair,
With whitewashed cottages, flowers in the air.

Donkeys and sledges, no cars in sight,
A step back in time, a pure delight.

The harbor below, with boats bobbing at ease,
Faces the vast Atlantic, kissed by the breeze.

Visitors wander, enchanted by charm,
Captured by beauty, in every nook and arm.

The steep cobbled street winds down to the sea,
Past craft shops and cafes, a place to be free.

Every turn, a postcard, a picturesque scene,
Clovelly’s allure, serene and pristine.

In this timeless village, traditions hold fast,
A living museum, a link to the past.

Clovelly remains, unspoiled and true,
A jewel of Devon, under skies so blue.