Saturday 28 January 2017

Chopin

The shore does not cry out to the waves, saying,
"Crush these rocks, take this sand,
Carve me until I am beautiful."

It waits, and it waits,
And the waves come.

The shore does not stop the tide,
It simply allows
The rise, the fall, the push, the pull.

It waits, and it waits,
And the waves come.

And it is not broken, it is not bruised,
It does not resist;
Ever-patient in it's Being.

It waits, and it waits,
And the waves come.

The shore takes shape...
High or low,
It sees the tide for what it is,
And becomes the beauty it longed for.

It waits, and it waits,
And the waves keep coming.