What, but a passing whim
Do bring thine bearing.
For gentle ease
Has brought us fairing.
If not our paths,
For they were teased,
We may remain a gentle breeze.
Had we known
What was before us,
There would have been
Such filling chorus.
Our eyes did find
A looming fancy;
We carried forward,
Assuming. Antsy.
Bright and beautiful,
Those distant flares.
Cast rays abound,
Those water affairs.
Cross breaks and foam,Thy name is sand.For lips i greet,My eve be grand.