Come closer, love, and take my hand,
And walk with me along the strand,
Where silver waves kiss ashen shore
And whisper things of evermore.
The tide is low, the night is deep,
The world itself appears asleep—
Yet hear you not that distant song,
So soft… so sweet… so very wrong?
It drifts upon the salted air,
A voice too fair, too full of care,
That calls as though it knows your name—
And loves you all the same.
Ah, do not turn—do not deny,
For longing lives within that cry.
It winds itself about your chest
And bids your weary heart to rest.
“They wait for thee,” the waters sigh,
“Where none shall part, and none shall die.”
And oh, how kind that promise seems
To those undone by fragile dreams.
Step closer still—the sea is warm,
It means you neither grief nor harm.
Its hands are gentle, pale and wide,
A patient, ever-reaching bride.
Have you not felt her watching long?
Within the pull of every song?
Within the hush of every wave
That laps as though it longs to save?
For she has seen you, night by night,
Your lonely walks, your silent plight—
And she has loved you, from afar,
More deeply than the living are.
The others speak of depths and dread,
Of restless souls and nameless dead—
But they have never heard her plea,
Nor felt the way she calls to thee.
“Come, dearest heart,” the waters croon,
“I’ve watched thee wander far too soon.
Lay down thy sorrow, soft and slow—
There is no pain in depths below.”
And should you wade where moonlight breaks,
And feel the chill the ocean makes,
You’ll find it fades… it turns to grace—
Like gentle hands upon your face.
She draws you close.
She will not part.
She learns the rhythm of your heart.
And when at last you cease to fight,
She kisses you…
goodnight.
The shore will wait, as shores have done,
For lovers lost and never won.
And some will swear, on quiet eves,
They hear a voice among the waves—
A tender call, so full, so true…
And think, perhaps,
it calls for you.
May 28
May 28, 2026 at 12:48 PM UTC
Come closer, love, and take my hand,
And walk with me along the strand,
Where silver waves kiss ashen shore
And whisper things of evermore.
The tide is low, the night is deep,
The world itself appears asleep—
Yet hear you not that distant song,
So soft… so sweet… so very wrong?
It drifts upon the salted air,
A voice too fair, too full of care,
That calls as though it knows your name—
And loves you all the same.
Ah, do not turn—do not deny,
For longing lives within that cry.
It winds itself about your chest
And bids your weary heart to rest.
“They wait for thee,” the waters sigh,
“Where none shall part, and none shall die.”
And oh, how kind that promise seems
To those undone by fragile dreams.
Step closer still—the sea is warm,
It means you neither grief nor harm.
Its hands are gentle, pale and wide,
A patient, ever-reaching bride.
Have you not felt her watching long?
Within the pull of every song?
Within the hush of every wave
That laps as though it longs to save?
For she has seen you, night by night,
Your lonely walks, your silent plight—
And she has loved you, from afar,
More deeply than the living are.
The others speak of depths and dread,
Of restless souls and nameless dead—
But they have never heard her plea,
Nor felt the way she calls to thee.
“Come, dearest heart,” the waters croon,
“I’ve watched thee wander far too soon.
Lay down thy sorrow, soft and slow—
There is no pain in depths below.”
And should you wade where moonlight breaks,
And feel the chill the ocean makes,
You’ll find it fades… it turns to grace—
Like gentle hands upon your face.
She draws you close.
She will not part.
She learns the rhythm of your heart.
And when at last you cease to fight,
She kisses you…
goodnight.
The shore will wait, as shores have done,
For lovers lost and never won.
And some will swear, on quiet eves,
They hear a voice among the waves—
A tender call, so full, so true…
And think, perhaps,
it calls for you.
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