(For the Tree, For the Sea, For the Wind)
Water slaps on the rocks,
In a churning, white foam.
And seagulls swoop down on the docks,
Or in the sky, they loam.
The dark, green water rolls,
Steadily eroding large gray stones,
As driftwood on the sand molds,
And away the wind moans.
Under the sparkling, calm waters,
The currents cycle forever.
Residents and tourists, the ocean lures,
Who wish for nothing better.
Back then I was a sapling,
Looking at the horizon,
But taller I kept growing,
As tourists arrived again.
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