An Ode to Coed Owen

Eighteen Ibexers went off to Wales, despite the dire threat of gales

To cosy bunkhouse Coed Owen, around which a wind was a blowin’

Some duly went out for some grub, to the handily placed Nant Dhu pub

Then to sleep in named rooms a tad fancy: Jack, George, Molly, Netty and Nancy

Storm Dharra moved in overnight, and the morning provided a fright

As at 9.15 on the dot, the power supply sadly cut

The rain it did lash all around, and the wind made a terrible sound

Still a few hardy Ibexing souls, felt the need to stretch legs and use poles

On up the hill they all went, til the trees from the ground the wind rent

Up out of the earth they arose, in their tracks the Ibexers froze

The trees did fall back in the ground, but the walkers had all turned around

To head back to the bunkhouse for tea, and to stare at the untwinkling tree

A relaxed afternoon eating lunch, proved us a convivial bunch

And a game of Articulate, though for power we still had to wait

Secret Santa did lend us his vibe, with mulled wine and prosecco imbibed

Lamplight helped the cooks in their plight, and to feast in romantic candlelight

Another night passed in the storm, no power became just the norm

The next day dawned drier and cold, hills beckoned the brave and the bold

To the East others made their way home, where they hoped that the sun still did shine

To return we do hope to Nant Dhu, in the Summer would be such a coup

Thanks to all for making the best, of conditions that were sent to test

Seasons cheer did truly carry on, hip hooray, special thanks to Yvonne!

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