At Cocoa Beach, I chased the sun,
And caught it everywhere.
Like all those shuttles launched nearby,
It blasted through the air.
At Cocoa Beach, I played in sand–
Grains running through my toes.
And soon the sand was everywhere–
My hair, my ears, my nose.
At Cocoa Beach, I stood in waves,
That had a pleasant beat.
And when those waves crashed upon me–
They helped to fight the heat.
At Cocoa Beach, the day was done.
I took my pail and spade;
Walked slowly back across the beach,
And thought of how I’d played.
Note to Josie: During lunch at the Mango Tree, you charmed a woman in her seventies, who was chatty and talked about the early days of space travel and the corresponding excitement in this area of the U.S. She said that in those days, you could expect to see an astronaut and his family having dinner in a local restaurant, and that Walter Cronkite would likely be there in a corner.