Mystique saturates, gluts the air, Adventure’s even more than rare, Excitement’s everywhere to share, And Novelty’s beyond compare.
Beacon, beacon, lonesome on a hill— Waves run aground, pound ‘round, what a thrill! Water water everywhere crashes, Shore’s not lazy for it mashes, bashes….. Summer’s when tourists traipse o’er to see you, Offering to wipe-wash your dust ...
