It rises up where stately trees

with silver moss preside.

Palmetto fronds like peasant’s fans

crowd round the mansion door,      

the windows wide, inviting plans

where all our dreams beside

go chaos in the seaside breeze .

–

Soon we’ll run down sandy dunes

where watery hillocks—water splash!

we’ll run into the salty broam

feel the surfy waving crash

–

Like senators on shade parade

we luggage up the stairs.

Feeling fine our royal time

we step inside the door

and see our beach-side home sublime

chateau of wicker chairs

and summer furniture arrayed.

–

Dump suit-case—bed

rush upon the screened-in-porch

the ocean’s there, and I’m in here…

it needs to feel my tread.

–

The beach house seems a matron calm

steady, present, staid,

here to shelter, house and keep

while just outside the door

order drops like down a steep—

a bank sanded grade

where wind and chaos shake the palm.

–

Hear the drums! Artillery. The gait

of water smacking rhythmically

as I run— flapping over sand

…for water will not wait.

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Photo by Clint Patterson on Unsplash