Rye Bay Poem by Dan Morton

The dawn chorus woke me
this morning, a host of beaks
singing their bird hearts out.
Hearts no bigger than pennies
yet massive all the same,
singing for the morning
and the new day.

At high tide when the winds'
in the right mood, the salted
scent of the sea wanders
through the caravan park
and hangs at my door
like a salesman, pitching
freedom and countless waves
and distance.

I like to walk the two minute walk
to the beach with my camera
and there try to capture
some visual sense of how
it all makes me feel but I fear
I'm not that good an artist.

I don't think anybody is.