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The hills on the horizon
Roll sweetly to the sea.
No ugliness there.
Across the horizon,
Aware of the stillness
That must remain
Undisturbed,
The curlew and the cormorant fly,
The red shanks line astern
Lest they disturb too much the air.
No ugliness there.
Even the sea feels
The tranquillity of
His soothing hand.
The equinox tides may arouse the sea,
But beauty remains.
The marine blues and greens
Fringed in delicate white lace.
Search as I may – no ugliness there.
Search for ugliness
Amidst the rocks –
You will find none there.
