Tidal Reach.

Rumblings of falling waves, ever tumbling Into sound. Perpetual shaping makes Ocean's mission, which grindingly crumbles Granite into sand, astounding. Creates Milled gems, smooths rocks to shiny pebbles round Which sea-moss clings. The labour of the thing Brings brightness to whitest shells, which abound By the score at tidal edge, like jewelled wings They shimmer in the light, each side with pearly Sheen, all cleanly washed by wet, and hiding Now in weed, provide, if gathered early A tasty fishy meal. Generous nature's Bounty lies waiting as waters recede. Seabirds busy pecking as high tide abates Show no fear as we walk near them, their needs Are met, flows will not wait, so our time gone We leave next tide to do what needs be done.