Surge
At Granite Island’s seaward side
We sat, and watched the surging tide,
The rapid rip, the capping crest,
The stinging spray, the ragged nest;
The long slow wheel of the sea bird, moaning,
The deep-felt urge of the white sea, foaming.
You laid your head on me, and cried:
'How long, how long? ' And I replied:
'This day is ours, and for the rest….
Ah well, ' I sighed, and sought your breast;
You turned, long-lost at the deep shades forming
While I caught tears at the tip of day, dawning.
12 October 1980
poem by David Lewis Paget
Added by Poetry Lover
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