THE BEACH HOLIDAY
The first time I saw surf,
Green and high and fringed with white.
A remorseless elemental, rolling
Forever into clean washed sands.
The delights of rock pools and ponies,
Of sand dunes and fishing,
Exploring the limitless space
and the boundless time of holiday.
The first time to catch a fish,
The first time to clean it
And the different taste when
Immediately fried golden brown.
The pale pale bowl of sky;
Where the days were so long
The sun paused and lingered
For untimed hours of dreaming.
And every pink dawn witnessed,
The low sleeping sandbanks rise
Out of the untroubled wash of the sea
And the seagulls shrieking challenge.
A brand new world to explore,
A precious gift, concrete and real,
New washed and promising
Every single morning.
My memories caught in an escape of flight.
Returned to a childhood of sheer delight.
© Margaret Pearce
- Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #7
Margaret said: No bottle in this poem, but the illustration brings up the feeling.