The deep blue
A silver breath at dawn, the tide draws lace on sand,
Gulls script their looping prayers above the strand;
Between the dunes and sky the sunlight turns to glass,
Our Creator paints the morning where the breakers pass.
Below, a forest sways where kelp like banners stream,
Sea stars button rocks; small lantern-fish softly gleam.
An octopus writes riddles in a whispering cave,
While whale-song braids the miles with music deep and brave.
The beach is laughter, shells, and salt on warm, bright skin,
Footprints start a story where the shy waves wander in;
Driftwood harbors secrets, children crown the foam,
Even the breeze seems blessed, calling the weary home.
And oh, those mighty waves—cathedrals made of blue,
They rise with thundered pulse, then bow and break anew.
In rhythm older than our counting hearts can hold,
Our Creator’s hand is felt in every gleam of gold.