But Wait There's More Poem by Rod Morris

Standing on the seashore soft feet buffed by sand,
Listening as the surf rolls in arguing with the land.
Cliff top greenery hanging on; repelling countless storms,
Sculptured by mother nature into grotesque shapes and forms.

Above gulls ride unseen winds like fixed-wing aeroplanes,
Swooping down; land on the beach to steal another’s gains.
Lying in a field of hay vainly searching where blue abounds,
Seek the elusive meadowlark, that’s singing soulful sounds.

Shady trees, hot summer day shadow a reed-choked bog,
Searching water-lilies; hunting that boom-throated frog.
Catching on a summer breeze a bee anthem sung to wild-flowers,
Watching wild ducks winging home through fading daylight hours.

Listen to a flowing creek; overhearing pebbles as they speak,
Wondering of they're fate; time to move to find another creek.
Hunting owls’ launch from darkened trees silent as they dive,
Alight upon night-time forager; also endeavouring to survive.

All sights and sounds we bear witness to are absolutely free,
Keep them for yet unborn generations to ponder on like we.