Upon Unwashed Stones

In my fancy, I sat upon yet unwashed stones, surrounded by Tide's ebbing and rising flows. Time comes and goes and the stones wear, erode. But still I return to sanctuary, my abode. I return to silence broken by free-flying gulls and gentle lapping waves. The sea, Great Lady, everchanging but not, calls inspires never tires. When pull comes, she accedes then on distant shore rises, then to me returns, returns returns again. Would that I could do but the same? Something not to be. So I sit, I listen, I wait upon unwashed stones. And instead, I dream.