If I was sitting on my own out on the pier

several feet above the sea

I would shiver and it wouldn't be from cold

but from a chilly memory.

If you could hear the sound my old heart makes

skipping shells across its waves

you would understand its gorgeous tones

as green eyes wash across your face.

I never could describe quite why my tide

repeats a rhythmic pattern so

but I could guide you to the shoreline by your hand

and watch the ripples swell and grow.