This poem is based on my time spent in Portugal during the summer holidays.
Portugal is the sea-
Powerful waves pounding the sand and salty Atlantic spray,
Winding beaches and wooden jetties and hidden coves tucked in the bay.
But where the forest meets the ocean-
Sweet wild blackberries melt in your mouth, warm from the bright summer sun,
Creeks swish and doves coo, and the trees whisper as one.
The city kisses the shore,
Cobbled streets lined with red-roofed houses and a square where a fountain plays,
Floury hot cakes rise in the oven, dripping with melting white cream and glaze.
Portugal is a place interwoven in the fabric of time-
Castles rising out of weather-beaten cliffs,
Glaring rock concerts where famous singers belt out guitar riffs.