Breakers smash against the rocks.
Tide pools shake themselves in shock.
As they are ruthlessly reformed,
Tossed about as endless storm.
Grayness fills the clefts this day.
Gulls are heard to squawk and bray.
Salt assaults those who range near,
Just as any other year.

A small craft breaks its way toward land,
The sea holds yet the upper hand,
And tosses without skill or care
The craft in turn through sea and air.
One final blow and it was done,
Of all the craft were only some
Small fragments lost or pieces shattered,
all across the shore and scattered.

Its one small occupant alone was kept,
In one piece, whole, within a cleft.
Her golden hair was pecked and shorn,
Her dress was caught on rocks and torn.
Her life ebbed quickly, lost in thought,
In one small hand, a moment caught,
Held fast and tightly, desperate, near,
A safeguard against hurt and fear.
Became more, what was once a toy,
Worth more than any other joy,
Remembered while in dying breath
As one who listened well and wept
As one who knew and one who cared
One who's hopes and life were shared.

Then, poor fingers, coldly numb
Bereft of feeling, weakness come.
Lost their grip of strength for naught
Miserably, in death, were caught.

So slowly did the figure fall,
No longer safe above the squall,
To splash within a salty pool
Amidst, of tiny fish, a school
Who darted quickly, out of fright
Then returned to nip and bite.
A crab came through and startled them
And they were hence replaced and when
All settled and when all was done
Rains would sweep away and come,
Gulls will bicker over all,
Breakers crash and echoes call.
Tide pools ever yet are swept
And memories are seldom kept.
For what was once is oft times all
And what has gone will come for all.

09/25/2001

Posted on 09/25/2001
Copyright © 2024 Leandra K Brossard