Rolling waves of green blue spume,
Soothe my aching feet,
Silver specks whiz by against the stone,
I look up from the shallow waters,
The sky coated in a pastel orange pink,
Seagulls soar my what beauty,
A cooling breeze whistles by,

It hums through tireless work day and night,
The painter of the skies brushes his paintbrush silently,
Tiny green creatures hidden in rough sand,
Who are brave enough to disturb the quieting day,

And now I must go before the waves whisk me off,
I watch as the remains of sunset absorb into the now starry night.