In my fancy, I sat upon yet unwashed stones,

surrounded by Tide's ebbing and rising flows.

Time comes and goes and

the stones wear, erode.

But still I return

to sanctuary,

my abode.

I return to silence broken by

free-flying gulls and

gentle lapping waves.

The sea, Great Lady, everchanging

but not,



never tires.

When pull comes, she accedes

then on distant shore rises,

then to me returns,


returns again.

Would that I could do but the same?

Something not to be.

So I sit,

I listen,

I wait

upon unwashed stones.

And instead,

I dream.

Samantha S. Dennett
September, 2006