23

Ripples on the stones

Wearing down

Slowly washing over them

Dragging them out

The tide comes

Burying all

In its frothy wake

Waking all

From their slumber sleep

The rolling tide

Ripping through

Etching salt

Salty spew

Roaring wave

Tugging hard

Pulling us

From our yards

Down to the sea

The spray and spume

The iodine air

Blows .

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