With apologies to Woody Guthrie.

This sand is your sand
this sand is my sand
from the jetty downward
and west of townward
from the ocean inland
it’s my next of kin land
This sand was saved for you and me.

Walked along the dike road
it’s a crummy bike road
you can get run over
by a new land rover
you can step in feces
of endangered species,
This sand was saved for you and me.

Drank a quart of root beer
by the time I got there
could a used a shower
or at least a beach chair
there were cars and footprints
signs that gave directions-
This sand was saved for you and me.

Well the place was gorgeous-
Didn’t want to spoil it,
Couldn’t find a trash can-
Couldn’t find a toilet
Hid behind some scotch broom
Used it for a bathroom-
This sand was saved for you and me.

I surveyed the beach trail
little pine trees quivered
couldn’t help from wishing
Dominoes delivered,
I was getting sleepy,
Feeling slightly creepy-
Not used to being with just me.

Then a lady tapped me
upon on my shoulder
she was maybe sixty
maybe slightly older
dressed up like a birder
that was when I heard her
“This sand is sacred.  Please don’t pee!”

Said she’d heard a plover-
She set up her tripod,
Then she came on over
and unplugged my iPod,
She said, “You should try it.
Listen to the quiet!”
This sand supports a symphony

I was young and lazy,
but she was persistent,
maybe she was crazy,
made me her assistant,
paid me real good money
just to lug her bird gear,
Now I go out with her for free.

Well I love Bayocean,
Love the wind and sand bars,
Love the dunes in motion,
And I love my grand maw,
Gave up mountain biking
So we could go hiking,
She saved this sand for you and me.

Written by D. Thomas Neal