The Rising Tide Poem by Silas Weir Mitchell
The Rising Tide
AN idle man, I stroll at eve,
Where move the waters to and fro;
Full soon their added gains will leave
Small space for me to come and go.
Already in the clogging sand
I walk with dull, retarded feet;
Yet still is sweet the lessening strand,
And still the lessening light is sweet.
Saturday, October 16, 2010
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4/25/2024 5:07:11 AM # 1.0.0.1119
