Colin, I like most of your descriptions but find the poem way to long. To
me the heart is the end:
Seen dimly beyond confusion of foam,
Drawn hither by the beckoning song of birds
On ledges where pink sea thrift springs from the barren rock,
Or further to the grottoes and bays of green
Where oaks gather over honeysuckle and primrose in bloom.
I ferry the shells of mussels and crabs far inland to the bluebell woods
Whose fragrance lifts year upon year to the summits of snow.
esp the last three lines, and I wish you were there a lot sooner.
Thanks.
Gary
Dec Byron Sacre at: http://gardawg.homestead.com/gardawg.html... Writer's
Hood at http://www.writershood.com/... Poets for Peace.... ˇPoemas sí, balas
no!
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