Come to Sunbreeze Suites and live a different experience at beach! http://www.sunbreezesuites.com/
I love your green hill sand sunny vales,your flowering trees and sunny dales.
When wondering through a starry night the
firefly shines its dazzling light.
What mystery your cayes unfold
so many legends never stood,
of the baymen who bled and died
on sands of cayes for their pride.
Land of the free where none are slaves,
One people proud of their heritage,
black, white, Indian, Spanish people all
ready for their country's call.
This land of ours will always be
the home of people who are free,
and so we ask the Lord above,
O God protect this land we love.
-Vilma Young-
Belize my native land
A letter by your daughter’s hand
For a legacy from my peers long gone
For this I thank thee
This land of lush green forests
The bush lands of Belize
The rivers and creeks where waters flow
For this I thank thee
The morning mist that rises at dawn
From this land of sea and sand
A message told that we are one
For this I thank thee
For the brightly coloured birds you gave to me
Tip-toeing in the lowlands, some flying high
Of natures hurray - you can hear them sing
For this I thank thee
Your tropical breezes whispers to me
This land we must protect
This place where man and beast are one
For this I thank thee
Here is a list of the basic things you need to take to the beach and you should not forget under any circumstances:
Remember to visit Sunbreeze Suites!
http://www.sunbreezesuites.com/
My father played the melodion
Outside at our gate;
There were stars in the morning east;
And they danced to his music.
Across the wild bogs his melodion called
To Lennons and Callans.
As I pulled on my trousers in a hurry
I knew some strange thing had happened.
Outside in the cow-house my mother
Made the music of milking;
The light of her stable-lamp was a star
And the frost of Bethlehem made it twinkle.
A water-hen screeched in the bog,
Mass-going feet
Crunched the wafer-ice on the pot-holes,
Somebody wistfully twisted the bellows wheel.
My child poet picked out the letters
On the grey stone,
In silver the wonder of a Christmas townland,
The winking glitter of a frosty dawn.
Cassiopeia was over
Cassidy's hanging hill,
I looked and three whin bushes rode across
The horizon - the Three Wise Kings.
An old man passing said:
"Can't he make it talk" -
The melodion, I hid in the doorway
And tightened the belt of my box-pleated coat.
I nicked six nicks on the door-post
With my penknife's big blade -
There was a little one for cutting tobacco.
And I was six Christmases of age.
My father played the melodion,
My mother milked the cows,
And I had a prayer like a white rose pinned
On the Virgin Mary's blouse.
-Patrick Kavanagh-
