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.