The Shore
The ocean swells
To rob the shore,
A grain of dirt
Becomes ocean floor.
Sea-levels rise,
Land once there
Is no more.
Water devours all in its wake,
Precious land once free
Becomes clay with each take.
Water our source for life
Is our pilgrim claiming
Land as its wife.
We cannot stop the tide
Nor run and hide
For it is all around
Like a silent assassin not making a sound.
Copyright © Warren Clyde | Year Posted 2017
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