A polyglot wealth of flowers strides
Golden down the soft curves of hillsides;
Drooping willows pay obeisance
To the daily reconnaissance

Of billows in cadenced, bucking rows
Groping the breast of the shore;
Sucking at the sandy floor;
Insatiable and seeking more.

Impatient for the feast, off to the east,
The hand of the capricious brine
Traces a fine thin line
That shakes itself into swells

Thundering musical blows,
Drumming on jutting rocks to glow
As crystal shards caught on the run
In the candlepower of the sun.

The vast vista vanished eons ago when
God tortured earth with a blue rack;
Then restored the drowned paintpot again
On that day the land came back.