Why, a billow by the breach,
The sternly waves don't pace,
Nor let up but for breath,
Marked out in quite the slight-
-Ly violent crashing just abated,
Then loosely strewn all white decays,
Become the folly of the wind,
The carry-on to their beholden rocks,
Their final seat if not for such a breach,
And tameless tumble in a shocking stream,
Back to the mountain feet from whence they come.

To don smart clothes,
In wake of whirlwind rush,
Streaming through the countryside,
Upon the tarmac empty beside,
The tranquil grass and salty air,
To travel so very far and fair.

I tinker in creative clatterings,
A mental world conceived, given sound, song,
Melodramatic anthems for reflections,
To the ground in all its fury.