Waves, cracked, crashing, crystal & sharply crisp,
Seagulls, distant cry, a mere mourning wailing lisp,
The splashing spanking of cockled-carbuncled rocks,
The echoing lustful wind howling & cruelly mocks,
The cold knife-ice-cutting of the crunched shivering
air,
Warning my tired eyelids down & not to stand &
stare,
Whilst the crimped waves of pristine crimpoline foam,
Carry me within their arms to my far-off distant home.
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