I was there a bit before,
now all trace is gone.
Where I stepped is clean once more,
sand as smooth as stone.
Stretching out before me white,
mountains turned to sand.
Made by countess days and nights
rubbed between God’s hands.
Life is like this walk of course,
soon there is no trace.
That we’ve walked along its shores,
that we’ve run the race.
In the end the question’s not,
footprints did we leave.
But dids’t know Him who from naught,
made sea, sand and waves.
This poem, like Listening to the Waves at Night, was inspired by a recent trip to the gulf coast. It also calls to mind the verse in James in the New Testament “…What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes.” This is my first attempt in many years to write more classical poetry rather than free-verse so your feedback is welcome. Many thanks to my friend Tim Bell at Grace Syllables for his help as I worked in this format.