The surf sings me tunes
Telling me of flower moons,
Waving goodbyes
With smiling hellos.
We exchange 'i knows.'
For we have been here before.
.
The wind will whisper no more.
It will wail in agony as the tide bails,
Stealing all the shovels and pails.
.
.
The glass that holds the hours
Of ultimate sandcastle...