The gulls of the coast
dressed in their whites and fine colors
cry argument with the waves for the fish
they so rudely harbor.
Intruding on them, young men
dig through slop sediment and pebbles
reaching for a rare oyster
to pray to for a pearl.
And above the calamity
the Sun majestic, stands from clouded throne
giving growth to kelp, coloring coral,
eyes in askance the fade of eventide.
So comes the pinning
of day to bare earth
the canvas lives, its oils
wet once more.

Penned by my hand on the 18th of Lupar, in the year 573 AF.