Standing on the beach

A small donation will help to keep my poetry FREE!

 
The sirens call of the water at night.

Sanding on the beach, in the night,
Watching the waves, by pure moonlight.
The rhythmic sound, of the lapping waves,
This memory my brain, quickly saves.
Sweet smell of the salt, is in the air,
And I continue to stand, and stare.

Standing on the beach, feet in sand,
No one beside me, to hold my hand.
That rhythmic sound, the lovely smell,
The memories come back, you can tell.
Bitter taste of salt, upon your tongue,
The past has gone, you are undone.

Standing on the beach, toes in the sea,
The vastness of it, washing over me.
That rhythmic sound, the water is cold,
I am starting to feel, so very very old.
Aroma so strong, of food in the vans,
The doughnuts, and fizzy drinks in cans.

Standing on the beach, back from the sea,
Look at me yes, but you will not to take me.
Beautiful sound, like a sirens call,
I do resist, the lure of it all.
Tide goes away, sun starts to rise,
Here come the vendors, what a suprise

Standing on the shore, away from it's call,
Coffee in hand, as i look back at it all.
No sooner the vendors, now the people do come,
All wanting their day, in the bright hot sun.
The salt in the air, Fish and Chips in their hands,
Taking over and invading every inch, of the sands.

Copyright 1990 - 2013 Craig Wadner