I was a fool when I visited last
This place, this mountain sandy avenue
That now has abated into my past.
But this monument still stands: a way-through
Beach god to all of the memories traffic
That tides within the oceans of my life.
If this monument could speak specific
It would I’m sure tell of all the long strife
That it knows as a fulcrum throught the years:
All of the seasons, the people, the dreams
That rest unmanaged on the edge of tears
And resound in waves off the waters screams.
This mountain is a sacred journey still,
It finds me and fills what needs it’s fill.