Water, water everywhere, but whose water -
Who stole it?
Is it always low tide, or blank tide -
Where the water's run off like a tidal wave is coming,
But none does, and I'm left with hard, hot dry sand
And the Sun laughs at me for hoping to swim,
To be cleaned or cleansed.
Ha, he says, get back in your hole,
Go back underground where you belong, Parker -
Of you we've no need - comprende?
But Sun's heat, his rage,
Can't last the whole day -
By evening he's worn out,
Tired of punishing people,
Tired of making people sweat and swear,
Turn-burning their skin cherry-crab red -
By day's end the Sun is just as tired as we are,
And he only complains a little
About having to wait the whole night long
Before getting his chance to scorch us once more.
He'd grumble, too,
About wasting a perfectly good sunset on the likes of us,
Except he has someone waiting for him,
Someone a lot kinder than he is,
To spend the night with.
Time and Tides by David Parker | Lemon Poetry Reed Diffuser
$20.00Price
