compared to the tune of the tourist's songs
sung in the great seaside towns of the  south
bandon life seems rather simple
as it slips away into sunset silhouettes
with a lingering memory of rain
fresh in the  raw vibrant air
now a prince called spring
with a youthful plan
demands the attention of the old winter witch
with his unavoidable voice
so penetratingly alive
cascading down the cliffs above the broad surf  beach
resounding off the sculpted rocks
amidst the blue hurtling waves

with a shouting
only heard by the sea,

" this day's too beautiful to miss, mister"
and there it is, the same miracle once again
everything superbly animated,
with vivid fulfillment