Beachcombing
WE never know from day to dayWhat comes in on the tide- Some relic of a life a long goneThe ocean's tried to hide
A piece of driftwood, green and smoth;
A bottle from afar,
Bobbing on the shining surf
And gleaming like a star.
Flotsam of history, love and war,
At one with stone and shell;
Words worn smooth and echoes of
Some long-silenced bell
We always live in hope, my love;
We know not what's in store.
So come with me and let us search
For sovereigns on the shore.
John Tatum