Walking to the bus stop from our door
We fell into a subtle harmony
Like little children dawdling on the shore
No haste, no chiding, wanting nothing more
Like swimming in a balmy pale blue sea
Or walking to the bus stop from our door
Who is known and which one is the knower?
What is here and what is yet to be
For little children dawdling on the shore?
Setting aspirations ever lower
No competing, rush nor victory
Just walking to the bus stop from our door
Though human who gave us creative power?
Who has loved and who evoked in me
The feel of dawdling on the sea, the shore?
Who hears the sorrow, plangent , of the sea
Where earth and stars reflect so rhythmically
Walking with you touching nevermore
Oh, that I were with you on some shelled shore