Raise the Pearly Conch high,
Listen to the sound; of every wave that passes by,
in fast retreat and bound. *
Listen to the sound; of every wave that passes by,
in fast retreat and bound. *
There was a young maiden who lived in a tiny cottage in a kingdom by the sea.
She spent her days in nature rambles at the shore, digging holes to China, and listening for the siren songs of mermaids. Sometimes she would meet the old man selling abalone shells, and wonder what his story was?
Long lavender afternoons were spent gathering and pressing sea moss, which she carefully plucked from the tidal pools. Later, she would curl up and nap in the shade of the dunes.
When the sea swirled and foamed with anger, looking far out to the horizon, she wondered how she had come to this place.
One day she came upon a conch shell, and gently holding it to her ear she was given the answer. Can you guess what she heard?
Still riding the waves,
Marjorie
P.S. *Inspired by my first poem for Mr. Hauser's English class, and sourced from my collection of antique seaside ephemera.