As I sit and stare at the Ocean,

My mind then becomes its motion.

So absorbed do I become,

No feelings, no cares, only numb.

We are happy when I arrive,

When we part emotions dive.

Part of me is left to grieve,

Each time that I must leave.

Each year do I leave part of me there on the sandy shelf?

Or each year am I returning to myself.

Soon there will be nothing to return,

For it will have consumed all of me.

Or will I be complete?