for Rob
The wave stands tall in crested fury
Bound to dash the rocky shore
To fragments, when it holds to pure
Resistance, standing never more.
...
Then fragments, pulverized to sand
In pieces far too small to stand,
Lie helpless on the seaward strand,
Packed beneath the cresting roar.
...
But waves, once fallen, must retreat
From sand washed clean by tidal rush,
Leaving soft for wounded feet
A path amid the neap-tide hush,
...
Lying still on moon-lit shore
To face the beaten tide once more.
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Poetry (poems)
PoetryPoetry is passion, by form constrained To find in words what minds disdain, To seek the hearts raw depths restrained, And pierce, to flow again
