The Etang
So furthermore, upon that farther shore
Where old sounds float like flotsam on the sea
The tuneful wind sings in a minor key
And turning tides bring in the wild sea's roar.
Salt drying on my face as once before
The harsh taste lingers where tears used to be.
Shipwrecked remains washed up like life's debris.
I'll jettison the rest, and weep no more!
My throat is parched from this incessant wind
As it blows hard across the dry etang
And rasping sand-filled air still stings my face.
Though now the wind is raw like knuckles skinned,
And soon there will be sea where swallows sang,
Flamingos will be here to take their place
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