Shrill Cry for a Forlorn Love

As the golden arcs of oats gleamed bright,

The sun awakened from an endless night.

The sweeping tide devastatingly washed away all intended paths,

Only to reveal the shiny, sun-kissed shells having baths.

She rises up from a cold, dark, wet slumbering bed,

Only to reveal her dire secrets and still to be filled with dread.

Love everlasting is her desire alas,

But her doomed fate has already been unfortunately cast.

High-pitched shrills of angelic streams of patterned notes cry

For her true love to longingly hear, to hurriedly find her, and to release his sigh.

She uncontrollably beckons forth for her dashing mate,

Little does he know of his untimely fate.

~6/2014