Treasure Island

David Wood

(07 April 1950 / London)

Whispers


O break you waves, break
Over the sandy beach in the bay
That I may hear you speak
Of the oceans great story today.

The fisherman, his line out to sea,
The boy flying his kite on high,
People on the ferry do see
The Mumbles go sliding by.

O for the touch of your tiny hand
Never more to be held so dearly,
The walk along the beach so grand,
My mind on softer times so clearly.

Only the wind and waves do speak
Telling me their tales of travelling far,
The wind over my head does streak
With the waves crashing over the bar.

Submitted: Tuesday, March 26, 2013

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