moss laden rocks came out
tiny muzzles clinging like grapes
shiny black so thick like gravel
crabs crawling with ready pincher
fry following downstream flow
towards deeper part of ocean
low tide again keeps ships at bay
pump boats still take it so easy
runners maintain their slow pace
some of them stop and face the sea
to see buoy with steady flashing light
it goes forever powered by sunlight
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem