Words are bubbles that reach
The surface of sunshine and foam
To be lost in the surge of tourists on shore
Who splash and dash
And tan and leave
And never there is
A peep into deep.
Yet, in a corner of rubble and rocks
One still sees
In silence and still
The bubbles that rise
And will not stay put.
Clouds and waves, now meet and mate
Here on the floor of her eyes that glisten
With dews from the dawn-smeared grass.
These be the translated pearls from the deep
Which for the moment shall gleam,
And strung with care shall afterwards sing
Symphony of seas to her heart.