We form like seeds, flower on trees,
fall and drift amid the breeze.
Then father time, life’s anodyne,
rakes us in a pile like leaves.
Gathered together, on the shore,
the tide rolls in, goodnight amore.
Behind the piper, singing in key,
hand in hand, a caravan,
in a line back to the sea.
Hand in hand, back to the land,
to eat, and laugh, and play.
Pulled at night by lighthouse light,
that disappears by day.
Each lost ship sails, and tell their tales,
about the Justice of the Sun.
Some watch the waves, with dull amaze,
and others watch the sky.
Some count the days, as Karma plays;
some struggle with a word called why.