Rick Howarth Poet Rhyme

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.

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