along the golden sands she runs,
swinging arms, matching stride;
crashing waves bring seagull crumbs,
deposit treasures with each tide.
sea shells scattered on the sands,
like incantations on the wind;
she gathers them amidst the strands,
blending voice above the din!
each gusty wave of her baton,
the wind is maestro to this band;
from cockle’s flute the highest pitch,
to conch’s cello, deep & rich.
the tulip’s voice of brass cornet,
of scallop’s rippling clarinet;
the kettle drum of florida’s cone,
and hammered strings of angel’s wings!
ancient chords, rehearsed refrain;
her call to join each voice unique,
each grain of sand, each clapping wave,
leaping toward orchestral stage,
calling forth their joyous praise.
till mistral bows in whispered hush,
a thunderous crash, their glad applause!
a distinguished musician, especially
a conductor of classical music.
a strong, cold northwesterly wind
that blows into the Mediterranean.
i walked upon the sandy beaches,
my lover’s hand in mine;
from ev’ry step ’cross rippling reaches,
flows their song from ancient times;
a song with every crashing wave,
of every ghost these waters claimed;
fills the air with hopeful longing,
song of love, their chorus haunting;
for each body held in depth’s repose,
each soul in song is lovingly released.