Poetry

We sit on a balcony
and look at the harbour, the beach
and the small town
where fishermen make their life
out of the sea,
where a few boats bob up and down
 
and some gulls flap against the strong wind
that makes white horses of the waves
and on you towel you are busy
to get mahogany brown
 
and when the sun draws level
we walk to a restaurant
that is close to the beach
to enjoy dishes of roasted fish
and some soft drinks.