One chill and misty Sunday afternoon,
I walk along a lonely stretch of beach
In quietude. The only sounds I hear
Along the shore are gently lapping waves,
A seagull’s plaintive crying overhead,
And salt-tinged breezes whispering through the trees.
Upon these windswept solitary sands
Where time and tide and wind have left their scars,
I feast my eyes on seaside panorama.
The sun’s rays sparkle on the rolling sea
And cool damp mists enshroud the distant isles.
It’s growing late, but I’ll prolong my stroll;
This tranquil Sunday seascape calms my soul…