Tho on land I may no longer be
I can see a cornfield on the sea
stripes of plankton occur and green seem to fulfill
the cotton fields white crested will
The deep blue water dips and sways
Imitating hill countries curvy ways
the rustle of wind through grass does weave
to the ears, the waves do as much to please
Snapper flesh like a bluegill tastes
I can devour them with no less haste
No matter what I may do or see
It all still feels like Texas to me
Westwood
12