Is It Poetry
The Sea It Calls
Over the sound,
the sound the waves made.
Footprints to the edge
in time, it stops.
Along the beach
I do as well.
To sit and watch, it stop.
It never does,
she watches from
the bench, the park put in.
Always kind she waits.
She waits, this time.
With nothing on her mind.
Except the clock,
she left behind, inside her home.
The church bell rings,
hear it ring.
A purpose once she had.
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Edgar Allan Poe
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