the hidden cove

The Hidden Cove.

I sit in the cove, where
the sea-foam is yellow and hard,
and lazy ripples clean
golden pebbles,
and carve a pipe;

with it I’ll blow bubbles
in the air, see them
soar as they absorb the light
till they are transparent pearls
and burst as bubbles do;

I’ll think of nothing, but
how wonderful it is
to be alive a summer day and
own a pipe that makes dreams
come true.