Along vast beaches the rippling tides
to strong stone promenades duly proceed.
Taking with them pre-washed shingle that glides,
in a to-and-fro act of endless speed.
The sea bombards the shore, hour by hour,
churning up polished granules in its wake.
Myriads of grains feeling its power,
pile thus against a high concrete windbreak.
Forces within the waves, one cannot quell,
no one can calm the waters constant flow.
It is an endlessly repeated swell,
like music in ‘moto perpetuo’.
Lovely flow to this Ernestine, always good to read your poetry 10 Lynda xx
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
It's 10/10 from me for any poem that contains the word 'myriads' and this one has a bit of Italian thrown in for good measure too! Got to be worth at least 15/20! Great poem Ernestine, it's good to have you back as good as ever. Love, Andy xx