In the November greys
Cold and wet
I have the beaches to myself
Mile upon mile
As if they were put here
Just for my pleasure
Cold and wet
I have the beaches to myself
Mile upon mile
As if they were put here
Just for my pleasure
But perched here
On the hillside
A few hundred feet high
It is just 20 miles
To where the sea
Touches the sky
I know the waves
Will be breaking
Far off the shore
Carrying their foam
Up onto the beach
Where waves crash onto jagged rock
Foaming
Each breaker a crescendo
Of thunderous water
Where they begin
Is as much a mystery
As where they end
But their promise of adventure
Calls to me
Aum, it says
I love it so much
I tend to find it
Where others see only the everyday
Only the expected