When the lone gull fiddles in the dune grass
to the chatter of light on the tide
come whittle the hours by the water's edge
where a palette of wonder hides.

Watch as a watercolor sharpens the sky
on the crest of the ripening day
a snippet of eternity
that filters through the haze.

As hands of age betray their touch
where the shoreline chips and bends
so grain by grain the Savior sculpts
the lives He spurs and mends.

Our footprints melt beneath the spray
in concert with the Lord...
old marks forgotten, chiseled clean
simplicity restored.

Pocket the morning's steady drum
and frame it in your soul.
Run breathless down the dwindling coast
'til the dizzy world winds to a stroll.