I waited beside the sea tonight
For the moon to rise above.
I listened to the waves
As they crashed on the shore,
And pondered the meaning of love
And loss, life and longevity,
And why clown fish live in anemones.

The cold salty water
Breached the shore
Where I sat,
Wiggling my toes in the sand,
And the sudden coolness
Shocked my mind
From the depths of deep consternation
Over the feelings of solitude
Amid the crowds,
And into the sharp reality
That I had chosen to sit alone
With the sea,
As is often my practice and habit.

I pulled out my paper,
Wooden board and fountain pen,
And began to scratch out a letter,
For what Lord Byron once said
Is very much true
Especially for us who are hermits:

*Letter writing is the only device for combining solitude with good company.