There’s a girl, who lives near the sea,
She wanders there each day,
And her eyes, cast far ahead, speak
Much, much more than she’ll ever say.

The wind lifts her skirt, and riots
With her dark mane of hair;
While the glowering sun, covering her
In blinding gold, can’t cower her stare.

At times, I spy her work-torn hand
Lifting to catch a beam,
And pity the tears in her hope
As she likens it to her dream.

I watch, unobserved. And, I know,
She waits – and she waits in pain,
And, oft, I find myself praying
That her wait never ends in vain.

Each day of each changing season,
I am told, she stands there:
At the edge of the rolling sea,
Ensnared between hope and despair.

The waves tip high and break, break, break,
Near her unadorned feet,
While the sand surges from under
And with the sea hastens to meet,

Her eyes ne’ever waver in their stare,
And her back never bends,
She stands there, each day, from the time
It begins, to the time it ends.

I know not just whom she waits for,
Though this I know as true:
If that stare of hers breaks, in vain,
That spirited heart shall break, too.

And whom she waited for, in pain,
Shall know pain like never before!
And the heart that showed her disdain,
Shall suffer, suffer fore’ermore!

28th May.


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