On that strand, rough-hewn
Where the waves roll home
Standing small against the sea
She taunted the surging breakers
And relished their raw enmity.
She laughed as the surf curled up toward the sky
Her hair danced dark on the wind
Her eyes flashed green as the churning mean
With a light I could not apprehend.
And the waves and their liquid thunder
Plunged down from Poseidon’s seat
And flung out their reach o’er the boiling beach
And sprawled there, dead, at her feet.
She gazed on the dying water
And grinned with a childish glee
And was grinning still when I left her
Standing small against the sea.
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