Morecambe

Morecambe’s bay awakes at dawn,
A stretch of gold where gulls withdraw,
The tide draws lace upon the sand,
And paints the sky in pastel awe.

The promenade hums with vintage charm,
Ice‑cream stalls and candy‑bright arcade,
Children chase the echoing laughter
Of brass bands that serenade.

Evening settles like a soft shawl,
Lights flicker on the pier’s old spine,
While lovers stroll, hand in hand,
Watching stars align with brine.

Here memories are forged in salty air,
Each grain a story, each wave a song,
Morecombe holds the heart’s dear echo—
A timeless refuge where we belong.