przno beach

The quaint cove is framed with craggy cliffs and mountains,
Where discarded boats and signage dot a ramshackle beach,
At its steps, a rusty old anchor stands tall,
Strewn with old rope and a diamond-shaped buoy.
At the far end, the mighty Maestral holds court,
Behind red-roofed apartments, and konobas
That tempt peckish passers-by with impressive platters,
Laden with the day’s freshest catch.
Sunbathers settle along the beach,
And the sequin sea tickles the shore,
Rhythmically stroking stones and softening ceramic,
While children splash and play amid delicate fish.
A taxi-boat waits patiently for passing trade,
Nikolina rocks gently in the breeze,
A brightly tinged Tamara glimmers in the light,
In the distance a parasailor glides gracefully over Budva.
High in the sky, swallows flap frantically,
Encircling a rocky island just off-shore,
That houses a derelict home and a few brave bathers,
Who’ve swum up and scaled its mossy stones.
The afternoon is a hive of activity,
But as the sun slides nearer the jagged horizon,
The ramshackle beach becomes calmer, quieter,
Until dusk falls on pretty Przno, and it’s time to sadly say goodbye.


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