Fickle Beauty

It is no secret to anyone who
Claims to know me, that my deepest
Source of pride and site where I have witnessed
The most beauty, is my own front yard.

There is a special magic to Penn Cove.

The rising sun each morning,
Shuttles the thread to complete the fabric
Where the ocean and the orchard,
Become mixed within the tapestry,

Of living with the wind on Penn Cove.

There are Mussels on the roof,
Dropped by greedy seagulls in a frenzy,
Rabbit entrails, eagle hidden in truck wipers,
As the rooms are draped in butterscotch.

From the sunsets of Penn Cove.

Wondrous cowering in the thunder,
Lightning mired within the fog,
Days with out electricity lent themselves
To sentimental moments, huddled with the dog.

Times often unsettled on Penn Cove.

The character of the bay changes daily
It is the will of life and time.
I see it as fickle beauty however…
Just once I’d like to think that something

I loved on Penn Cove would last forever.