Heavy waves of blue-green tears
are falling with fury and rushing away
beneath a noisy flock of seers
who, with their screeching voices, say:
Come away! Come from this shore!
From shifting sands and fading sky!
From lands that soon will be no more!
Come with us now! Come with us fly!
I awakened then where I had slept
and dried the tears that I had wept.
The sky was bare; the gulls were gone.
The evening had grown swiftly chill.
Sunset was dwindling drear and wan,
but the darkened water was heaving still.
Heaving and bringing up to my feet
dead seagrass and broken shells,
all the things the ocean beat
and scoured clean within its swells.
Then over the tide flew one last bird
but silent as death it spoke not a word.
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