No ratings.
A poem of the coast, and the feelings its stirs. |
I imagine the place high on the crest of a wave. Birds float, riding reins of galloping tides and sea spray clouds that envelop rock and stone. Attacked and embraced an enemy faced eternally battered by ocean lines but steadfast and still in salty battles. In calmer breezes, waves lap toes of majestic giants; magnificent stony-faced guardians; protectors of the soft flesh of England's torso. The ocean in submission, retreating. My heart lies high on the dappled face, cooling itself in rapid winds forgetting itself in sea-blue dreams it's home in the spoils of a battle won on a cliff's high shoulder, Proud and at peace. |