Sweet treachery on a night of drought,

And no, I did not see the billow coming.

I held no thirst or thoughts about

The sounds of soft waves drumming.

I sat by a puissant moon

And awaited, only, the fall of June.

 

And no, I did not see the billow coming,

Hardly aware of my own growing thirst.

Blind to the wretch I was becoming,

As if I was the fabled foe, accursed.

So near to the wind’s sweet vale;

It was only right when the sea assailed.

 

I held no thirst or thoughts about

The visionary pool.

To the sand I was devout

Before the hands of the whirlpool

Wrapped me up in diamond water.

Now from the land, I stand asunder.

 

The sounds of soft waves drumming

Will soon consume my mind.

Can you hear the ocean coming?

I will not be left behind.

Demoralize me,

The absentee.

 

I sat by a puissant yellow moon,

Dight by gentle starlight.

Feet raw from the grains of the sand dune,

Awaiting the rising tides of twilight.

As the water ebbs and flows,

I move before the opening dares to close.

 

And awaited only the fall of June

Did I.

Fervently thirsting beneath a crescent moon

Was I.

I saw the sand so loathly,

And now I hold the water closely.