Walking along paths and cliffs
That fall off into the surf below,
Churning, I think, relentless as snow;
Far away from the Algarve,
Near Huron and the St. Clair,
The home bodies huddle, nervous.
I continue down the sandy path,
Careful not to stub my feet and fall headlong
Into the swells licking the cliff&#39;s feet,
Chewing away at the base, making land fall.
Cover you eyes, shield them against the streaming sunshine
Bouncing off the blue waterskies.
I know it&#39;s time to turn around, but I walk onwards
Toward another crevice that churns
And rumbles within.