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Updated on October 1, 2009

A Most Perfect Beach

(c)-1997-Artwhimsically Yours Studio-MFB III
(c)-1997-Artwhimsically Yours Studio-MFB III


Ocean bound

on July 19, 2005.  ©-MFB III-Artwhimsically yours studio 

Ocean bound,
I sit quietly here,
as I ponder this day
watching the bathers,
and nature at play,
making me smile
in a most peaceful way,
as my pale sun blocked face
gazes over the bay.

Pelicans do make
the clumsy feel graceful,
Seagull-ibles eat
all that's left
when we're wasteful,
ocean waves slap 
sand-which's most distasteful,
the next time you're caught
in their grip,
grab a face full.
The sea has a Porpoise,
it's a Grouper of humans,
from the north coast of Maine,
to the beaches of Cubans
from the African capes
to the isle of Aruban's
it's a whale of a time
lobster red, folks sit fuming,
in huge tourist traps
bright umbrellas are blooming
at ten dollars a day,
rental sales charts are booming
while out on the waves
boogie boards all go zooooming
dancing over white crests
till the hard surf entombs 'em

Toddlers prance, some get crabby,
while others just perch,
on the edge of each wave
lest it gives them a lurch,
spending hours just sifting in
a great seashell search
getting sand in their buckets,
filling buckets with sand,
building castles that crumble,
while they make others stand,
it's a wee bit of heaven
here on earth, oh, so grand.

Summers spent at the ocean
are vacations well planned,
so return to the sea
from whence once emerged man,
hear those distant waves call,
catch them soon, if you can.


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