All but a whim in passing aroma there strides a flowing beauty. She takes my heart of moon drawn tide adrift upon the sea. My soul is held within the billows of her misty mornings song. The waves emotion paints a thought of nothings ever wrong. Caressed in every contour flow she's sand that moves the artist brush. As though the beauty of rising sun, were simply not enough. In flight the white of gulls cry out splashed across a sky bound breeze. And she's a portrait of peace on earth while crying on my knees. Copyright William Carey Clause Sr. [email protected]