A Waiting in the Seaside Mist

Some days it feels like the river stones

Are bare and exposed like dry bones

Other days the rushing river flows

And the world is regaled by the melody it soughs

 

Waters pour across the horizons

Meeting my gaze and my dry tongue

When I remain parched, I curse the sun

The river is faithful, though, and the curse is undone

 

Who was I to shake my damning fist

Life does not flow to a man’s tryst

Reminders are found in seaside mist

So I count it a blessing to be flush and sun-kissed

 

This life is not mine to overthrow

I learn everything I don’t know

Wisdom revealed in time apropos

By means and manners the world has the choice to bestow

 

Photo by Benjamin Suter on Unsplash