that I could sit and gaze at the waves forever.
They are perfect, ancient, unrelenting,
a fluid being of such powerful grace.
They do not break for man,
they break of their own accord;
they are the ever-churning millers of earth and rock,
discomposed beauties after break
in the deep blue so accustomed to such exalted beasts;
let them wash upon the sand,
never again to return the same,
only as perfect and magnificent as the memory allows.