15 July 2012
The sea mist rolls in with the tide,
Arms round the bay as it tries to hide,
Gathering the urchins and crabs and weed
Into a grasp they cannot leave.
Softly, slowly creeping in
Riding off the back of the lapping din
As the waves preform their lunar quadrille,
Back and forth like a flour mill.
Yo-ho-ho is its whispered cry
As it seeps inland with a contented sigh.
Shroud • Opuss № I