Seaside Hut

I lived all life in seaside hut,
with frothy spray bearing granules of salt,
dripping through octagon cavities of straw cane roof,
sheets of loose sand whistling past glass pane,
long tapered pine laden with juicy coconut,
showered in plenty with strong draughts of wind,
hairy crabs peeping from wet cocoons of sand,
royal horse carts making spiral journeys in coastal mud,
smart navy ships at obscure distances from humansight,
sleek motor boats churning through white waves,
plaintive wooden rafts with projecting fishing net,
mammoth piers of resistant timber, securing ship rope,
fiber glass stalls selling coconut flesh,
stray vendors mixing iced candy,
toddlers drilling awesome shapes in sand,
teenagers rubbing liquid sun tan lotion,
grey haired masses walking at brisk pace,
fleet of cranes sipping brackish water,
agilitic birds capsizing fish in moulded beak,
acrid sunlight heating ocean in day,
moonlit rays pacifying sea thirst at night,
huge assemblage of waters crashing against black rock,
with sea swelling in leaps and bounds,
in torrential agony of cloud rain,
and warm gulps of herbal tea,
I simply love my seaside hut.

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