The Beach

Washed by the tide’s relentless ebbs and flows
The beach, powerless those forces to oppose
For millennia, its tiny grains accumulate
No agency its growth can frustrate

Thus forms the shoreline of these isles
The border of the land for endless miles
Determining the limits of our habitation
A hem on the garment of the nation

Yet sandy strands form only part of our long coast
Often the pride of resorts who of them boast
For rocky bays and coves, and harbour walls
More commonly the mariner’s landfall

But whatever constitutes our lingering seaboard
Smooth greensward, jagged rocks or steep fjord
The encircling seas make manifest
The island status of which we’re blessed

Ken Fisher