The Wild Water's Edge

I sit staring seaward at the brisk water's edge

With sand blowing south-east from the land,

Stinging, lounging quietly, and gently dredge

Glimpses of sparkling blue in another grand

Portion of my life when the world was younger

And so much glorious beauty surrounded me

In those halcyon days when there was hunger

To dive deep into the blue, cooling pool or sea.

Now I sit still at the wild water's edge and sigh

To strains of Mahler's Fifth, as the wind whips

My stationary, immobile frame while, still, I lie

As slowly the sun sets on a life well lived. Lips

Move, as I ask whilst deck-chair postured there:

"Why does the little white bird on the shore stare?"

No gentle going into the approaching dip of the sun

With three days to the Equinox. No. I am not done!