The seagulls roar

Are you not the keeper of your sail

the host of what lies are within

guarding the hidden beauty

a sleeping garden wearing thin,

plucks upon the heart in play

adagio in curds and wave

requiems filling up the mast

mind spinning upon the lathe,

tit for tat the waves build up

tipping the tiny boat

sweeping for a knotty ground

to each their private mote.

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