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Click hereI walk to the water's edge each morning,
To watch the fishing fleet as it returns.
Gulls follow the boats as they round the bend,
I hear their cries above the lapping waves,
While beneath my feet, the sand is still cold.
It will be warm by the time I turn back
Away from the sand, away from the sea,
But I shall be here again tomorrow,
To wait for the boat which will bring you home.
The 'welcome back' pregnant with 'goodbye' feeding the longing that awakes and dies every day again.
Thanks for this wonderful piece.