Dreams can be made on whispering sands,
By brave hearts and horsemen's hands.
Softly a beat fills the air,
Hooves leave a pattern on the shoreline once bare.
Salt spray shimmers then falls,
Ears flicker as a gull above calls.
The toss of a head as taut muscles strain
To quicken the pace, wind in a mane.
The power of the Ocean is easy to see,
It equals the beauty of a horse running free.
Though the thoroughbred's power is ours to behold,
On emerald green turf fearless and bold,
The glistening sand is where dreams start to grow,
On a Cornish beach when the tide is low.
By brave hearts and horsemen's hands.
Softly a beat fills the air,
Hooves leave a pattern on the shoreline once bare.
Salt spray shimmers then falls,
Ears flicker as a gull above calls.
The toss of a head as taut muscles strain
To quicken the pace, wind in a mane.
The power of the Ocean is easy to see,
It equals the beauty of a horse running free.
Though the thoroughbred's power is ours to behold,
On emerald green turf fearless and bold,
The glistening sand is where dreams start to grow,
On a Cornish beach when the tide is low.