Every wave is someone born.

And all the shells are something mourned.

Each grain of sand is someone in need.

While the shapely clouds are there to heed.

The wind that blows is oppression.

Which goes hand and hand with aggression.

Footprints made are stepping stones.

As people’s futures they condone.

The sun shines down to make things clear.

Permitting problems to disappear.

What does it mean when the waves subside?

Carrying the souls of all who died.

Making room for those new born.

Never forgetting those we mourn.