Miranda's Mistress Poem by Alastair Buchan

She gently laps against my feet
And coats them with a saline glaze.
Her slightest pulse and softest beat
Caress the shingled shore in waves,
Which slip and slide o'er rounded stones
That chase her as she slinks away.
‘Til once more she returns, blown
From distant worlds into this bay.
Tempestuous, her cry does knock
And flow across my very heart.
Sometimes she'll roar and slash at rocks
Or tear prosperous ships apart,
But now she tickles ‘twixt my toes
With whispered ebbs and peaceful flows.