We strolled hand in hand
Over creamy white sand
Which captured our footprints
So briefly in time, 'til the tides
And the whitecaps erased
Every trace of our lingering gaze
Into endless expanse.
Hillside bedecked by a
Towering lighthouse, a
Monument offering course and
direction,
Left to remind of the days
Of our glory;
Seafaring heroes who praised her
reflection.
Stiff breezes piercing the October
morning,
Riding the waves rolling in from
the east.
The surf is alive with the voice of
a lion,
Rising to crash like the jaws of a
beast.
Yet, somehow serene,
Alive, Enduring,
Knowingly constant,
Meant to survive.
Never a worry on
These sandy beaches;
Joyous to celebrate
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