Brigantine to Allenhurst
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When spring's sweet breath has
Coaxed awake the anxious blooms,
And our winter wearied hearts rejoice
Once more in the songbird's tunes,
The pines are clothed in their richest green
And each aberrant breeze whispers our names,
Down to the shore - lost pilgrims to the sugared sands
We traipse in our haphazard caravans,
In search of a memory or quiet repose
And some part of us that still lingers from long ago.
Ole salts making ready for "their runs to the stream"
While the boardwalk shops fatten-up with ice cream,
And snow cones and taffy are treasures to be nabbed
With Lady Luck and sea gulls and soft shelled crabs.
Here life's silly vexes transform into games
Where dolphins and egrets captain our teams.
Until summer surrenders her throne to the fall
And the quiet days of winter invade the dunes
And home we go to wait till ole Jack Frost is banished
Once more by the promise of June.
– Terry Moore ©2015