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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(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(7 May 1861 – 7 August 1941)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
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(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
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(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
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