Be it flowers surrounding
Or the Winter’s death knell
When lush heathers and purples
Fade to sienna sand
May it be with clarity
Or with toment I cry
I want it
I want it all
And when we’re nearly ninety-nine
Fading, yet certain of our fate and the love it made with us
Green still, relatively so
We’ll walk, treasuring the sands, the time
Was the water as fine a host as your story told? The global position as true? It has been some time, and I’ve navigated North somewhat, bring me back.
What shifting of the ground beneath your feet? What compromise refused? Oft’ the sands of time serve us, some act as cogs, and some as polish.
Seek with me a patient balance. Find the urgent, too. May it be our paths have merged, when this day ends, when ‘morrow comes.
NOW COMES the Respondent, another wave in the tide
A meritless crash upon an innocent shore
Another Excuse lacking an answer
Forcing me to question my sun and my senses
Allege a wrongdoing, a heartbreak, a theft
And cry a toddler’s tantrum as the sand swallows then recedes from my feet