A Memory of Jamaica
I stood alone in the shallows
on the shoreline of Jamaica.
Montego Bay as I recall
was where she'd had me take her.
On the beach some fishermen
were laughing in their boats
and I watched the shadowy shapes of rays
come swimming by, real close.
And as I stood in the turquoise sea
just soaking up the heat
dozens of tiny little fish
were nibbling at my feet.
White, they were, with yellow fins;
attractive little creatures.
It's just a memory I have
of one of the island's beaches.