Late Spring Noon

Dense fog shrouds the ocean's beach
To make a private world for us.
We walk on sand at water's reach
And leave the public world to fuss.

Cool, damp air swirls all around
To temper ocean's features.
Disconnected sounds abound
And catch seclusion's creatures.

by Jeanne B. Cushman

Other poems of JEANNE B. CUSHMAN (4)

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