Shore Story

 

It always was a part of me; the salt, the crashing of the sea.

Sandy toes part of the lure; waves big and small, they are the cure.

A seagull cries, my eyes they follow; he flies far off into tomorrow.

If only I could fly with him; leave the tasks of life so dim.

The sun it sets, all red and golden; treasure of this day a token.

Evening creeps upon once more; all is well when at the shore.

-Mary-Jeanne Smith