Come morning tide up the wayside,
By whales and wharfs and dunes I glide,
I slide by rock, mount, bridge and bay.
I wave, I roar, I leap, I pour,
With briny tongues lap up the shore,
Through cliff, cape, chasm find a way.
I shape the shell and wash Thor's Well,
Entrance the lighthouse clientele,
And arches, churns and punchbowls spray.
And as the beach I sweep to reach,
I catch Ponsler's pebbles in speech,
Or stumps and wrecks rue their birthday.
