From St. Simon's Island
I listen on the beach to the waves cascading,
Slapping, tossing the sand pebbles,
Creating swishing, swashing sounds,
I hear hissing, rustling sounds of the wind.
I see some gliding fishing boats there,
The seagulls soaring, gliding in the air here,
On the horizon floating ships still further,
Surfers trying to get rides on the waves here.
I watch people running strolling and sunning,
The sun is about to set on the horizon,
With a promise to rise anew tomorrow morning,
Like the human ambitions and desires unknown.
I notice the crabs scurry somewhere hiding,
The scooping pelicans with mouthful of fish,
Leaving the smooth bed of sand, water receding,
All sounds now receding to its minimum hiss.
Come, Grace, getting away from the turmoil,
It is the time for us to be in tranquility to coil?
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