Hastings, today I write in praise of thee:
The calls of warning seagulls greet my ear
A fishing boat sails out across the sea
The rising sun reflects upon the pier.
As crunching pebbles grind beneath my feet
The waves they lap upon the gentle shore
The sea's a calming, mirrored, glassy treat
That moves away, but then comes back for more.
I swim inside your chilly morning waves
And duck my head three times into the grey
I'm in a world where nothing misbehaves
And nature has no choice but to obey.
With all resistance finally melted down,
I wander back home through the waking town.
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