Along the cliffs, against the cays The white surf heaves and sprays. The cold wind whips the foam adrift, Curled waves swirl into bays.
The black and stormy clouds above Throw grey-blue shadows on the ocean. The seagulls circle overhead
With mournful mewed commotion.
No-one braves this wild, white surf That buffets rock and sand.
Dawn walkers even steer well clear, And walk the cliffs beyond.
The waves that surge upon the beach And crash against the rocks,
Are strong, unyielding, swelling free Along the rugged coast.
I love this dark, tempestuous storm,
This heaving, raging sea.
Somehow its mood just seems to brood