Come to the window, dear;
listen to the sea-swell
comb its patterns on the sand.
Stand by my side and hear
the clanging of a buoy-bell,
breakers crash upon the strand.
Tonight, then, you and I
may stand and breathe the evening
waiting hopefully to see
the dusk-fire turn to night,
the drunken ***** go weaving
from their holes into the sea.
Feb 1, 2017
Feb 1, 2017 at 3:55 PM UTC
Come to the window, dear;
listen to the sea-swell
comb its patterns on the sand.
Stand by my side and hear
the clanging of a buoy-bell,
breakers crash upon the strand.
Tonight, then, you and I
may stand and breathe the evening
waiting hopefully to see
the dusk-fire turn to night,
the drunken ***** go weaving
from their holes into the sea.
1985
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