Tuesday, June 2, 2015

Picture


Walking down a sandy beach,
I  stop to find a lone dead tree:
Its withered roots coated with salt,
A hollowed trunk on a bed of dry leaves.

I turn towards the vast ocean:
The waves lashing onto rocks,
Their frothy crests like dreams,
The jagged cliffs like realities.

On the horizon's a solitary sailboat,
Like a picture from a calendar.
It's a shot I shouldn't miss,
But will camera do justice to its memory?

The soft breeze through my hair,
My nostrils take in the ocean air:
A heady mix of salt and fish,
A potent drug, I'm here for a fix!

This vision I commit to memory,
A perfect picture it shall be.
The tree, the ocean, the cliffs, the mist,
O, how I shall miss all of this!








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