What good is your promise,

You've gone to time's lagoons.

We splashed in ankle surf,

And tugged a sinking kite.

What was that prayer you whispered

In twilight’s arctic desert,

Where the raging of your storms died

Beneath the August moon?

What good are your echoes,

Your shells forswore their tide pools.

Your gift of raptured pearls

Lie squandered on a winter beach.

And when you took your leave,

So thoughtless through that darkest gate.

With hammered copper on your eyes,

You spent your mother's heart.

Then led her down those dour halls,

So guiltless in her mortal shame.

To rue the sunrise of each day

And weep upon her daughter's grave.