Tempting playmate, inviting us in
with your refined saraband of ebb and flow,
like the elegant dances of long ago.

We frolic in your caressing shallows, heedless
of the denizens lurking in the dark depths far
from our paddling feet; a swirling mass; survival hungry.

Your rippled surface reflects the colours of the sky
in deceitful serenity, awaiting the storm;
the tempest which will release your killing power.

The wind, your accomplice, will, with nature’s skill,
craft your waves into rampant sculptures, white-flecked
with spume-ing foam; the frothing of a rabid dog.

Relentlessly you engulf the hapless traveller
in the embrace of death. When fickle wind departs,
you return to your gentle air of innocence.

© Marion Sharville

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