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.
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