The Whistle Buoy's Sigh Poem by Peter Strugnell

Come on let's get away down to the sea,
take in the sea air take in it's liberty,
and the wet sands shimmering in the light,
the moon the stars shining through the night,

This Island was the place I was raised,
all the rainbow's colours the summer haze,
sailboats drifting across the bay,
the rising swell would us gently sway.

Sand between the toes at the ebbing of the tide,
the Wittering Sands is where we would hide,
we'd wander the shore no concept of time,
like lost driftwood, all along the shoreline.

The waves would rumble and the tide would rush,
whispering sea-grass, silhouettes in the dusk,
ribbons in the breeze fluttering free,
untethered and untied from all modesty.

Oh I can see it now,
castles made out of sand,
Oh I see it now,
as I take you by the hand,
it's some-kind of wonderland.

Distant voices in the night time air,
move a little closer say a little prayer,
the touch of your skin the seagull's cry,
the navigation lights, whistle buoy sighs.

Come on let's get away down to the sea,
take in the sea air, just you and me,
the wet sands, mirror the skies,
sailboats drifting, the whistle-buoy sighs.