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!