Along the cliffs, against the cays
The white surf heaves and sprays.
The cold wind whips the foam adrift,
Curled waves swirl into bays.

The black and stormy clouds above
Throw grey-blue shadows on the ocean.
The seagulls circle overhead
With mournful mewed commotion.

No-one braves this wild, white surf
That buffets rock and sand.
Dawn walkers even steer well clear,
And walk the cliffs beyond.

The waves that surge upon the beach
And crash against the rocks,
Are strong, unyielding, swelling free
Along the rugged coast.

I love this dark, tempestuous storm,
This heaving, raging sea.
Somehow its mood just seems to brood
Like mine, intrinsically.