A mile of beach with pure white sand, palms along the shore,
Greenery stretching to the hinterland, white sand lying on the still sea’s floor, Smooth blue water stretching to the far horizon, a yacht that’s drifting by, A distant island basking in the ocean, beneath a winter sun that lights a cloudless sky. All this would be a tranquil sunny heaven were it not so famous as a quiet haven.
Alas! vast hordes of tourists teem the shoreline; The noise and movement kill serenity.
. In the crush of crowds there’s little of civility.
Even the locals’ mansions with their vulgar décor undermine All potential for a quiet peaceful sojourn.
Why is it that all jewels of the north
Are sadly over-run by tourists loth to learn
That virgin beaches are of no more worth
As places to escape the madding crowd
When every southerner who seeks tranquility
Haunts the same spot as every tourist loud
Who’s heard that it’s the only place to be?