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From the shores o'er Long Bay stares a silent old tree,
That stands like a sailor gazing out towards the sea,
Though it honors its secrets, Time's whisper could tell
Of pirates and treasure and flowing white sails.
Here where the sparkling sand outshines the moon,
And sea island oats crown golden the dunes,
The blue crabs a-scamper, the mackerel rules king.
O'er nights full of stars and days full of dreams.
'Round Frying Pan Shoals, the waves sing and moan
The name of the cape where their wild waters roam,
While spirits prowl on, long into the night
The moss sways in dance to fair "Luna's" delight.
A sweet land of orchids and dogwoods and pines
And cypress swamp lore suspended in time,
Where the sun's golden orb saunters down through the leaves
Of defiant old oaks who still challenge the breeze,
Far from the world's hustle and strife,
In a quiet little corner, waits Paradise,
Where the salt on the wind and call of the sea
Can cure hearts that are aching –
And souls that aren't free.
– Terry Moore ©2015