Mornings early I’d sit on its porch a young boy only of eight,
The sea in the distance waves every dancing were the music of the seashore played,
The arid scent of the marsh instills a sun-washed place in the light,
I can’t help but think of the times when life wasn’t perfectly right.
Where tidepools sheltered stranded fish and crabs a starfish maybe three,
The sand forts I built with moats to surround and the tide rising far up the beach,
Sawgrass and sea oats the roar in a couch that sounded just like the sea,
A sand dollar which when broken in half-told stories of why He saved me.
Not much in life ever comes close to my love and thoughts of the beach
A memory from past,
Ever locked in my mind,
My safe place, my refuge, my cottage, by the sea.