time passes
aging envelops meit embraces me
tighter and tighter
storms I used to
only wince atnow leave me
with anxious despair
when time was young
I could build mea shelter with strong hands
and soon the storm
would pass
sitting on beach sand
would lead me to playrun in it and watch
the ocean tides come in
challenge me to swim
in them
when once the hand
that held mine as we’dkick sand and splash
each other in play
wishes no longer to
walk near the ocean
out of fear
and when I do
a quivering timbre voice calls out
‘don’t forget
to come back to me’
the beach sand, now,
my every step laborsalthough still pleasing to
'mine eye', of what I can see,
the ocean waves
with their roar
seem menacing to me
