Eel Grass

No matter what I say,
All that I really love
Is the rain that flatens on the bay,
And the eel-grass in the cove;
The jingle-shells that lie and bleach
At the tide-line, and the trace
Of higher tides along the beach:
Nothing in this place.
A poem that inpires me, penned by the great
Edna St. Vincent Millay