There Are Times

There are times
when I arise
in the morn
and the smell
of the Sea,
wafts the air,
recalling the memories,
to the front
of my mind
of trips to
the beach;
a favorite time,
walking on sand,
wind in face,
while many of
your troubles will
disappear, when the
sounds of Seabirds,
in the salt
laden air,
removes the worries,
lets them all
pass, when the
wind dies down
and the Sea
is like glass.