The Beach
Shall I compare thee
to a slice of melon?
Thou art riper and
no less sweet
Rough waves carve
patterns in your skin
And summer sun soaks
sands in heat.
Sometimes your surface
glistens smooth as glass
And often stars upon
your surface gleam
And sometimes, too,
you let no person pass
As wind and water
sweep your surface clean
But always you return,
renewing pledges,
endless days of warmth
and laughter,
At year's end we
gather round your edges
Forget what came
before and might come after
So long as you are
there, not out of reach
We have our holidays
at the beach.
by Lyn Tiernan with a nod to Will.