From My Travels On the Pacific Rim
The cold coastal wave,
breaks and froths a watery stave,
and listens,
as the North Shore echoes its tide;
Here the trees combine with land and gold,
and write with the rocks in runes-
Of everlasting beauty,
a world within a world,
where solitude is not
the echo of death,
but a reflection of the past.
Copyright © Ph.D Volo Von Wolfenstein | Year Posted 2011
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