matthew and michael and morgan and mark
went down to the beach (skipped school on a lark)

and matthew found grass that smelled so sweetly
he couldn’t remember his troubles, and

michael befriended a Rasta-man
with dreds that became a head full of sun;

and morgan was chased by a crusty old cop
who sputtered they shouldn’t be where they were and

mark beach-combed a Roosevelt dime
from long-ago lands, and golden-days’ time

for whatever we’ve lost, my country tis of thee,
it’s always ourselves we find in the sea.

– Laurie Byro