Washing in, sweeping out,
swaying puppet-like
to desires of master moon,
waves taste the shore.
Foaming lips of salt
licking at creamed sand,
teasing the beach with
its tantalising caresse,
curling, slowly fraying,
whispering ardent love
to the eager land.
Stern voice of the sea
commands instant recoil
under tears of spray,
mocked by plaintive gulls.
Sun sparks igniting on crests
die in depths of green.