Ebbtide

she sat there with only one tear rolling alone to drip between her knees Splattering on the tidal flow below. Cross legged with ankles aching on wet jetty stone Cold wet jetty stones gathered from God knows where By God knows what and re planted to keep the harbor open for running tides and shallow keels The time it takes a hot tear to cool depends on speed and touch of fickle wind The onshore salt wet slap against the rock beneath her was no fickle tickle The larger driven waves of displaced wake were soon to drench her useless evening dress in saltier tears of moon drawn echoes than her eyes had ever bled What puzzled her was the complete lack of feeling while knowing the onslaught To be so imminent. The ream of words of feelings past rolled tightly in her huddled arms, had told a tale of woe and hurt and love and joy and dancing swirl of pipes a skirl in calling whirl that brooked no answer from this girl as patiently she sat on legs that carried her to reach this edge of reason lost for she was unaware of cost The clan was nevermore The hillside burned in sunset bright in this the middle of the night and all the ghosts of freedom yearned to save the soul of this one lass who carried in her womb the last the hope of past attempts. The morning found her there still sitting smiling in the pouring rain listening to the soft refrain of ebbing tide as once again she rose to meet another day of unremitting pain. But she had found an answer in the rain. The clan would rise again.