The clouds, they roll toward distant shores,
O’er seas and lakes, past engines and oars,
horizons mean nought, but a curve of land
that changes but slight, by nature or man

The sun shines on, through fog or haze,
O’er stormy skies, or clear summer days
It beats upon the land beneath
or upon the clouds, spread like a sheet

The sands, they move with the ocean’s might,
on ebb tide or flood tide, all day and night
valleys are made, with wondrous ease
and disappear as quickly as a deity’s sneeze.

Click on the image to see it in the Gallery along with others in my Black and White album

Photograph and Poem copyright to Michael C. Lam, all rights reserved.