The music that softly plays in the ear,
Where ocean falls in circles, in a shell:
The songs of the past, the dreams we still hear,
The memories from sea which therein dwell.
The tones don't linger in moments that long,
So we just hear the babble of its stream;
It's not a completely forgotten song:
Half reality, the other of dream.
Yes, still I hear the drone deep inside me,
The echoing of my old sea born past;
When near, or holding a conch from the sea,
To my ear and listen: to ocean vast.
I'm of history though living here now,
As you, I know we did get here somehow.
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