Scorching Bay

I miss the austere sight of Scorching Bay,
    afar the hardened blueness sharp and bright;
I miss our driving toward that glinting bay,
    alive with joy the moment it came in sight.

I remember the impromptu picnics we would eat,
    of Frujus, feijoa fruit, and fish 'n' chips,
as we faced the slapping winds and pressing heat,
    I still remember the taste of summer trips.

Between the water's splashing dips and lulls,
   in peaceful calm, the only sound one hears
is faint, the raucous croaks of mad seagulls,
   a sound of mental distance heard for years.

I miss the far-off sounds of Scorching Bay,
   its sounds are always playing in my ears,
that remind me so of joy from the past today,
   and even though we've left the beach for years.


 
Paige Chia
 

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