I would like to listen to the sound of bonfire sticks crackling as he chucks one on and the second he throws to a dithering dog-or the waves lapping on the shore steadily, a toddler’s toes dipping in that sea and then he screams and runs right away to his parents who are devouring literature upon the shore. They guard his sandcastle and chide him for pushing his sister who stumbles and falls on that work of art. I’d like to see the tide go in as picnic baskets are cleared away and the last of the suncream is lathered thick on children’s skin. I’d like to taste the local’s icecream letting bristles of my hair stick to my face and needing a second as the first melted right away sullying my beach wear. I’d like to smell sausages almost charcoaled on the grill as children are as speedy as rockets with plastic plates at the ready. A summer spent by the coast would be sure to enliven my spirit and cater for my senses.

Beckoning me down to the shore
He taciturnly touched my heart as cupid to the very core
Where seagulls do swoop down and land
We make indents into the sizzling sun-drenched sand
But our footprints are stolen by the tide
To a child, I am not magically mentioned in the sand as a merwoman, for my burly legs strongly stretch and burrow wide
Seashells, seashells, the gust of wind does sway you
Barren landscape, bare skin, the sea washes away my name
So that I can with gaiety start a new chapter; a new game
But his heart may wander away as he too glances with adventure across the blissful bay
For sea shore summer lust, lacklustre may not be here to stay

Onto the cliffs the waves did thrash upon the sea-shell sea-shell shore, gusty winds and the foolhardy gallant gay sailors tally-** tally-** tore.
Into that very alive and wizened woodland with willowing tall and deep-rooted trees in tempestuous wild weather where the brave-hearted do attempt to endeavour.
The birds' hearts do flutter as they maneuver across the sky and down below filthy burrowing foxes and dancing then darting deer; gone in an eye-catching instant render ruthless mankind menacing and mean in their direction as they chase in a team.
Bats battle the night's sky, dive and swiftly swoop down and up, down and up, rats also screech and are sodden and belong in the sewer, I would chase them away if there were fewer.
Gallant meandering men in the river-side sip sip champagne sojourning in sultry summer weather and London town where Peter Piper played his pipe. We picked and threw rotten rancid apples at the dutiful undeterred dogs who bark at the bashful brides for we said we would marry them someday, but we lied.
Laughter and drunken fun and folly in the tavern, good fortune surpasses the overhead reckoning raven; for we all enjoy good cheer and red wine, with more gold we would fancifully fine wine and dine, cards and blackjack, it is not his piano playing that we detest, but his shrill voice and to conceal our displeasure we do our utter best. Majestic mother nature in all its glory with dalliance and city folly in abundance.