A Beach In Summer
Who loves those days when the sun is hazed
and the seas unruffled with its mirrored glaze
showing every ripple and fish that moves
in the currents stream swept surface ooze.
And the tide on the beach treads soft and slow
leaving hardly a footprint as it goes
where the dark sand that each sea fall makes
is quickly absorbed to its flaxen state.
When the sand is warmly soft and gold
and the seagulls plaintiff call is bold
as no other sound competes for space
in air as soft as a mother’s embrace.
Then you lay by a bed of scented pinks
as rustling reeds their music links
with a skylarks distant worshipping praise
to sunlit, happy, palliate days.
So the amphitheatre of the cliffs
reduces all the world to this,
sea, sand and skies sensuous ideal
caressing body and soul to heal.
Copyright © Rick Howarth | Year Posted 2017
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