Sensory Overload

The dunes assault my senses. The divine
Wild fennel fills my nostrils, vying
For attention with fresh seaweed lying
Discarded by the waves at the tide line
To dry out as the sun and wind combine
To reduce it to leathery kindling.
I squint against the sunlight sparkling
On the sea rippling to the sky-line
And beyond. There’s a buzz as if thousands
Of bees are busy gathering nectar and
Pollen, but neither bees nor flowers do
I see. It remains a puzzle. No funds
Will be found to research it since off-hand,
None need to know. So who knows what is true?

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