By JH Sayyar
When my lady walks at the pebbled shore,
The sea forgets to crash, the winds grow still,
Each stone beneath her feet adores her more
Than kings adore the crowns they die to fill.
Her gown, like moonlight, dances in breeze,
And silver waves rise softly in her wake.
She brings the ocean's storming heart to ease,
And teaches stars the paths they ought to take.
The shells lean close to hear her quiet sigh,
The gulls wheel slowly in reverent delight,
The dusk itself kneels low beneath the sky,
Enthralled by her and softened by her light.
O let me be the shore where she may tread,
And feel her grace where the sea had bled.
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