19

Tide's always a coming,
begging change,
scrabblin' for pennies,
then gone in a blink.

But he always leaves gifts
behind,
Always leaves more,
than
he stole to the deep.

His pockets threadbare,
dropping secrets like
rain,
secrets shown till
he comes again.

Panhandler,
always coming a shore,
stagg'ring further,
than ever before.