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The Road That Leads Down To The Sea

The grey shrike thrush pipes in the sunshine on a branch of a silky oak tree
And on the beach I can hear the gulls calling from the road that leads down to the sea
On this beautiful evening in September as we near the prime of the Spring
The familiar song of the blackbird to it has an exquisite ring.

From the high part of the road I can see the ocean as it rushes up the sandy shore
An artist might capture this beauty for to hang on the wall by his door
The sweet piping of the olive whistler in his grey head and wings of olive brown
On the scrub by the quiet stretch of roadway where so few cars pass up and down.

Such beauty have inspired great artists and inspired Nature poets to rhyme
These views overlooking the ocean that have not changed with the passage of time
A rural beach far from the suburbs without buildings for to block out the view
On the beach don't see any people nowadays places like this seem so few.

The magpie is fluting his sweetest and few finer songsters than he
And butcherbird pipes in the sunshine on high branch of a blackwood tree
I stand and look out on saltwater and Nature's beauty it captivates me
On the lookout by the narrow and quiet roadway that winds it's way down to the sea.

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