Run through the sand dunes; to watch
The sea crash and draw,
Pummelling the wet salty pebbles.

At distance, each wave decisive,
Puppeteered by a waning master; who lilts
With beautiful menace,
Behind the soft curtain of the clouds.

Each rasping breath rounds the stone in a clatter,
Of ice cold foam; that draws under,
Bubbling and refreshed.

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