I walk along the sandy shores
and gaze upon the waves
as they splash just once more
washing to the shore in octaves.
On and in they keep on rolling
there seems an endless repetition
into the sands of time they’re perishing
only to disappear, as if being an illusion.
For time consumes the waves;
each wave never the same but new
only to die upon the sands, no age;
no form but just a memory’s hew.
Roaring aloud and as they die
they exhort a mighty sigh;
for here is the end of the line;
here lies the sands of time.
Our lives are just rolling waves;
as we perish a new rolls along
Soon we are forgotten, only graves
with the wind howling sorrowful songs.