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Seaside

There are cliffs of red sandstone and woodlands of beech
And a stretch of white sand that is our local beach,
And beyond is in emerald, turquoise – the sea
It’s the prettiest coastline that you’ll ever see

There’s a strong tidal surge, a quite strong undertow
So if you go swim dear, just dip in your toe
Pretend you’re a peasant! For no swimmer - the serf
Leave the waves for the seals who splash idly in surf

There are little boats heeling for they’re under sail
And a nice little rowing boat which is for sale
And they say she is smooth and free when she is rowed
Like a Bentley, at 60, on some open road

‘Who waits for no one?  Well not time or tide’
The rowing boat’s back, to a mooring she’s tied
With a rope strong and supple to a local buoy
A sailing boat crewed by a girl and a boy.

And in the bay bigger ships off for a cruise
With hundreds on board and far bigger crews
And their uniforms spotless in navy blue serge
And the liners dip slowly upon the tides surge

There were fishing boats tied to the stone covered quay
And a bonded ships stores with a strong lock and key
And some little boys through the key hole did peer
To see bottles and bottles all bound for the pier

And the waves crashed on down on each pebble, boulder
And crept up the beach as the tide became bolder
And would creep up much further ‘neath seagull and tern
Until it crept back again on the tide’s turn

And below splash the flounders, the bass and the sole
They say fishing is good for you – good for the soul