The lass by the shore

Time flies and the tide ebbs,

The air dries and the birds hunt.

Cowries in the rocks lie trapped,

They think they will die.

 

The lass is tired and waits,

With a face glowing and insides dying.

The odds are null and truth is truth,

But the heart wants what it wants.

 

Such moments of cold peril,

Seemed to amplify her beauty.

The tears resembled dew drops,

And her eyes diamonds.

 

She held a mirror in her hand,

Which was crying with her.

For it had painfully failed,

To show her her face.

 

Such was her grace and charm,

That even mirrors would give in.

Even the wind seemed to serve,

And kept her hair in shape.

 

But no wind and no sun,

Could correct what had been done.

Her other heart had long stopped beating,

With the other wailing for it.

 

Time flies and the tide ebbs,

The air dries and the birds hunt.

Cowries in the rocks like trapped,

Many of them have died.

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