Saturday, January 7, 2017


Sounds of surf at night,
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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