Not even the wayward rabbit,

The tide does cover it all,

The shells are always there as is their habit…

A cold wind out of the northwest,

Cannot deter me from my quest,

On my beach in winter I am obsessed,

Must find my little blue shovel,

That in summer the sea repossessed…

Not one person on my beach,

Nature did of them apparently teach,

Stay away from this mans realm,

He is my son, my protector, the one at my helm…

The pause that refreshes my batteries,

Reflect and commune with ole’ mom ocean,

Her roar heard inland and then some,

She does treat me with some measure of respect,

Though if angered, she could easily of me reject…

© ed ~ 2/13/06