Bare toes digging in the sand,
Scantily clad people walking by,
This old arrogantly shabby,
Yet proud Pawleys Island.
The gualah language drips,
Like honey from their mouths,
The pace is like the old South,
No rush hours no pressures.

Just an ordinary place? No.
One filled with vivid history.
The ghost of the gray man,
Stalks the lovely lido coastline,
With his solemn face warning,
In a plea of impending danger.
He appears just before a  hurricane;
A vivid metaphor showing,
The power of the wind and sea.

Laura R
2-16-03