Portsea

Portsea is a sporty lass --
Prudes declare, a naughty lass --
   Portsea is a pagan lass, with all a pagan's charms;
Bold and brazen, prudes declare.
But the spray is in her hair;
And she gathers beauty there
   In her gleaming arms.
Portsea in the summer days
Makes amends for glummer days,
   Makes amends for winter woes beside her laughing seas.
Joy beams from her shining skies;
Smug convention she defies --
But there's laughter in her eyes,
   And waves laugh round her knees.
 
Portsea is the place of youth,
Holding all the grace of youth,
   Holding all the gladness that gay youth enthrones as King.
Color flecks her silver sands,
Color clothes her joyous bands,
Clutching life with eager hands
   Where blue waters sing.
Bay and ocean match her moods --
Sprightliest of semi-nudes --
   Riotous and unrestrained the ocean waters swirl.
But where seas her bayside lave
Soft romance lisps in the wave.
Portsea simply won't behave --
   But she's a lovely girl.