She loves the ocean's roar
As it pounds upon the Eastern Shore.
The waves beat up against the rocky cliffs,
While the white caps tickle the tiny crevices
Where the sea urchin drifts.
As she watches the white caps roll in from the
Sea, tranquility and serenity overcome her,
And she becomes one with the sea, sky, and Love.
She listened to the shrill cry of the seagulls
As they soar over the rocks and water along
The rockbound coast of Maine.
Maine is called the Pine Tree State, and
Rightly so as pine trees in the spring grow tall and
Multiply in the Maine forest.
She longs to once again smell the pungent aroma
Of pine trees in the spring of the year, and
Listen to the fog horn again ringing in her ear.
The fog rolls in and against the lights of
The night, it looks like Christmas in July.
It is a beautiful sight.
She is very proud of her New England heritage,
And though she has traveled far and wide, she
Shall always remember the incoming tide.