Driftwood, washes up, On the tide that, comes in and knocks down, The castles I'm building. I stare, Intently, At the pattern, Receding away, From the shore, now empty. The waves, Are crashing. And I start to, Build them up again. With only the mem'ry. Each time, I build them, A bit diff'rent. 'cause i can't recall, Exactly the same shape. Each one, Still shines though. While they last here. On this shoreline while, I wait for the next tide.
