Key West In Carolina

Same sunset, different lovers.
No Buffett, no Hemingway,
Ocracoke lovers work harder.
Make their own music,
write their own plots.

Head to the boat ramp,
sit on the pier.
Hold her softly,
she is a cloud,
fueled by a golden cymbal
licking the horizon.

Head for the oak grouping,
neither first nor last.
An oak umbrella
hiding stars and prying eyes.
Sharpen your love,
carve it on a tree.

No Margaritaville,
you drink love from
an oak chalice.
A communion written
without directors.
Ocracoke lovers, working harder.