Tuesday, March 24, 2015


Rainy days on a beach seem grey all ways,
As wet squalls sweep the bays like liquid curtains,
But horizons once sapphire and certain
Blur into a misty purple maze.
And the amazing face of velvet hills remains
Painted deep green and shaded verdant olive,
While technicolour petals droop and drip
Like faded cascades or comely honeycombs.
Yellow sand is drenched into a pock-marked terracotta
As if it was a victim of a wild tsunami
Sent from fissures only seen by fishes,
Flattening the footprints of a vanquished army.
Last of all the sea takes on a motley hue
That blends liquorice with lolly blue,
And the surf still surges shoreward and crashes,
With white horses' briny manes and shiny sashes.

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