O`er the mountains, down at the sea shore,
I stand watching the ebbing tide, as the clouds fly o`er,
Thinking, how deep is this ocean, that I love so dearly?
In my heart, the beauty of the scenery, I can see clearly.
Upon the mountain top, the late snow lingering still,
Ice on the mountain side, sliding down at will,
Entering the valley, trickling into a stream:
Watering the grassy lea, making every thing green.
Wild flowers blooming, Flowering bushes, down the hillside,
Bees, birds, and all, building homes, just short of the tide.
Picking up sea shells, on the beach, watching boats out at sea,
Masts raised high, flags waving proudly, for all to see.
Boat blades churning the water, stirring up foam,
To all the terns, gulls, and sea swallows this is home.
So I walk barefoot with sand squashing through my toes,
Beautiful driftwood , just laying, all in rows.
Almost like someone was expected, from the beaconing sea,
I loved the sea so much, could it be calling to me?
Calling, come travel, sail all around, see all the sights,
Maybe to Italy, or Paris, seeing the bright lights.
Maybe one day I'll go, or, maybe here I'll stay,
What could be more wonderful than a day like today?
©Pearlie Duncan Walker
October 29, 1999
Used With Permission
All Rights Reserved By Author