Whistling trees sing scilent songs of
Sanctuary from summer's heat.
An oasis on the water's edge,
Crowded by weary passers.

Bay waves,
Scenting winds with salty gusts.
Blowing embered wreckage near,
Washed asore in weeks past

The grasses wave in gailing force.
Ceding space to lofty traps--
Holes in which we stpe,
Causing pain for days to come