- Jon Moore
Oh, the beauty of this place
That stretches ‘cross the sea
Perched on pole, old buzzard soul
Warms his wings, gingerly
Silent morn without gull squawks
No shrieks or dog-like barks
On Stinson Beach one person walks
A cormorant pokes from the dark
Blue sky
Feeding fowl
On the wing
The squawks start now
Laughing gulls
Caw caw crows
Buzzard banter
Dogs at canter
Crisp ‘n clear
Sounds amiss
If this were earth’s lips
I’d plant a kiss
Right here today on the Bo Bay
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