Deep within you
lay a sea-poem 
of long ago; 

where air is fresh 
but blusters wildly 
when southerlies blow, 

slick and slimy silt,
mud between the toes- 
mangrove's brackish home. 

White-caps dance 
in the open channel 
close to where corals grow. 

But further than the distance 
of childhood recollection, 
where starfish-lined parades 
demanded retrospection: 

Gone are those carefree days 
along with sands, white as snow; 
somewhere deep within you 
lay a coastal tale of long ago.*





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