Ripples on the stones
Wearing down
Slowly washing over them
Dragging them out
The tide comes
Burying all
In its frothy wake
Waking all
From their slumber sleep
The rolling tide
Ripping through
Etching salt
Salty spew
Roaring wave
Tugging hard
Pulling us
From our yards
Down to the sea
The spray and spume
The iodine air
Blows .