Hands of the Water

The Water approaches the shore with haste,

Calls of the ocean are what move it back,

Some current may be what sets it on track,

Moving as if it has no time to waste,

The winding water’s smooth ribbons are laced,

They sweep and pull until the water’s black,

Stirring the sand that will smooth any crack,

Suddenly Swish! The beach shore is graced,

Slowly now it pulls back from the shore’s edge,

It steals some sand with its watery hands,

Gliding across the surface with slow ease,

Never forgetting its solemn oath pledge,

That it will return someday to the sands,

By getting caught up in the wind’s great breeze