Is it possible, a sandshore
terrified by the unwhirling
ocean foam's embrace;
all the underworld
concealed
well beneath the ocean's surface.
All the treasures, sunken cruisers.
Does the ocean still remember
of the things that it must hide?
Hide them from the
hungry wind,
from the cold merciless sunbeams,
of what's buried down below.
As I stand upon the sandshore,
the horizon sees me weeping.
Yet
I hope,
the ocean's different,
strong enough to hide its tears.
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