- Vol. 04
- Chapter 12
Fresh is the wind, though a bit chilly and cold, Does good to the mind, the sea, I’ve been told.
The boat is dragged up high on the beach, The last of the tourists have departed; No crumbs to scavenge the gulls would screech And scatter by the time winter gets started.
A primordial shade the water would take, The unspeckled sky an azurer hue; Lying on the beach I shall make and remake A pattern with impermanence as the clue.
Green is the sea – roaming much – I’ve come to, Blue and green memories I shall nurse; Surrender some to the waves if I’ve to Just so the past doesn’t turn to a curse.