Waimea Bay

She crosses the sand aloof

The cool loner on a retreat,

No one owns her

but the sea and the beach.

 

She chooses her spot

Unties the mid-drift knot 

Of her unbuttoned shirt.

Casually she steps out of her skirt

 

And into the beckoning surf.

The chill of the water presents no bother,

As golden shoulders in motion

Slice through the tranquil ocean.

 

The waves soothe and sigh

With all of their power,

Welcoming her home

With a flush of white flowers.



Categories: Selection: Early Years

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