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July 24, 2001

"My very first poem. A friend read it and renamed it 'Brats'. What can I say? Everyone is a critique."


The Waves

They come running out to greet you
Like little children scurrying in,
Like little ballerinas on pointed toes,
Then they spin and run away
Leaving bubbles in their wake.

They dare you to make a stand,
Running up the shore with glee,
Running up to touch and flee,
Curling, turning as they tease,
Laughing gaily as they leave.

At times they seem so filled with anger,
They thunder up the sandy shores,
Breaking, crashing, all at once,
Then, as quickly, they seem to gentle,
Gently receding in wide-eyed innocence.

They seem so filled with so much turmoil,
On stormy nights they unleash their fury,
As they sweep the oceans, seas and shores,
Yet at times they seem so calm, serene,
What lies beneath we do not know.