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Tide meets land, on every strand. Places flat, of rock, stone, and sand. Places of wonder, in childhood's changing ways. Places with names, natures avenues. Playing boats on a summer’s day. Behind the pier, to the blue rocks stray. Where time and tide, move in their endless way. Places, from where, God has been seen. Forlorn point, reaches out to the sea, To Islands of lore, joined in history, Where once stayed our Rebels, when we were un-free. Here, inspiration, still thrives, a place just to be. Natures, lonely washed fields, of presence are full, The stony place, a magical world, of the setting sun, On sea washed rock, time unmeasured find. Strands changing beauty, are slowly refined. The old quay, Olinda, and Condon’s strand, Memories of joy, in a child's fairyland. The lifeboat slip strand, a child’s world of gold. In a vista of beauty see the burrow unfold. Places of freedom that cannot be sold Places, to wait, to rest and behold. Places; where man, is with peace serene, Places; from where, God, will be seen.




poem about seashore in ireland.

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