I like the quiet mornings
When the waves have washed the footprints from the shore,
When even the gulls are just beginning to stir
And the heat of the day has not yet aroused the flies
to search the seaweed for breakfast,
When the beach still has the sand of sleep in its eyes
And the driftwood looks like tired swimmers
resting on the shore
When the waves laugh at the rocks
And playfully wash the night from their eyes.
Soon enough the hungry gulls will dive for fish
And the waves will beat shape into the rocks.
Feet will pound the beach
And ladies will snatch the driftwood for lamps,
And I will face the day’s demands,
Trampled like the sand,
Wounded like the rocks,
Torn up like the wood,
Living for another quiet morning!
Warmly,
