Slow-rounded waves,
with silver'd brows,
roll softly onto shingled bay
. . with mouths that sing of travels long
amidst the gentle spray.
From far, foreign shore
and beach that burns,
. . . beneath a blazing sun,
your waters lying silent
yet . . .
as up above,
the forest birds did play.
And surfing dolphins
mocked and creeled
around the coral bar.
About your skirts of wrass and wreck,
washed white of tans
and bleached to dry,
tall trees of palm and coc'nut dance,
framed in azuré sky.
Where beach that rises,
gold and hewed
from rock and oyster shell
. . where shrimp and mermaid's purse abound,
with crab,
beneath the swell.
Far . . !
Far . . . !
Take me when you leave . . .
and show the ones who follow
worlds beyond your rounded eaves.
