The Foreshore

A contribution to
SCENIC SUNDAY

http://scenicsunday.blogspot.com/2009/05/scenic-sunday-44.html




THE FORESHORE

Ours is a working port,

Not like some puffed-up places,

And we are all working folk,

With honest sweat on our faces.

But when we're beneath the trees

On a glorious summer's day,

And the Hunter River's flowing past,

Merrily on its way,

Then we all live like kings

Within the scent of the sea

And there's nowhere else on earth

That we would rather be.

More of the Hunter River here:
http://rinklyrimes.blogspot.com/2008/07/65-romance-on-high-seas.html