If the azure glow of the ocean
is summers' own liquid crest
then the curling swells in motion
are the flag ripples in zest.

Unfurl! Fissure - our queen of salts
your pulse surveys our shores
kissing the sands in wavey waltz
and bequeaths the pearly spores.

Tepid husks under amber beams
yearn for littoral embraces,
quench all sheath burnt seams
and drench the basking faces.

Spray your song of briny mirth
tickle our drum-shells with hush
in whisper sing of tiding worth
breeze their sultry summer crush.

Bustling simpers ode your grace
sodden granule shrines arise
the hustle rush - infants chase
you splatter and belch in prise.

Shimmer the peach and the blue!
Wing the terns of whitish grey,
this season a-bore without you
vast emblems, of the golden day.