Curling Waters

The tide rolls in on curling waters,
then stretches its fingers to touch the shore.
It hisses as each wave breaks
and its white waters pound against
the sands and rolling stones.
We can sit for hours watching
its endless race
to see which finger
can go farthest up the shore.
Its waters then retreat
as a new wave takes its place.

25 September 2008

poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!