Innocent,
signalling peace,
Whispering
delight,
Rolling
on wet sands,
Ever
reshaping the shore,
Employed
as God's hands.
Moonlight's
creamy streaks
Make little liquid lanterns -
Mystical antiques.
Stars
glide behind clouds
That
slide across the blackness,
Fleeting,
fickle shrouds.
Or
do we hear sighs
Of
people gone long before,
Enduring
death's guise?
Are they twinkling eyes
That dapple the seaside tide
'Til
the new sun's rise?
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