They feel a little washed away,
With the lulling of the waves,
Lapping rhythmically in dawning tide,
Always scorning what they gave,

There is some notion they are rash,
Held in judgement by the heartless sea,
Dreams ebb in sorrow like scattered ash,
Casting doubt reciprocally,

Back to back they gave in spite,
Struck by cool and salty dross,
They held and screamed all through the night,
And mourned their steady loss,

At times they drowned entirely,
But that they did not mind,
Dancing above them; memories,
They oft thought lost to time,

And though the sea did not approve,
They agreed they weren’t to care,
For across horizon suddenly,
Islands were here and there,

And though the sea may never dry,
And the sand tick-tick away,
In the future could be isthmuses,
Though unsure if they're to stay.