In and in, and in
And slowly out.
They wash on the grey stones
And purple rocks,
Leaving a border of smooth, wet sand,
To be washed
By the next.
Priceless treasure is left,
Untouched by any,
Brought by the largest, strongest
Of them all,
Left on the line of dead seaweed and wood,
Awaiting the next
Great one.
Shells, stones, and sand
Are powerless,
For even age old boulders
Must yield
To the force, which centuries ago was born
And will never
Die.
