This must not go

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The  scent of the ripened fruit you eat

While I am sitting quiet at your feet

And just the whisper of the undertow

This must not go

 

Watching your  fedora out of reach

rolling  away over the empty beach

And just the whisper of the undertow

This must not go

 

The comfort of your body  being near

The soundless spoken words so very  dear

And just the whisper of the undertow

This must not go

 

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(picture made by my husband Toussaint, Terschelling West beach)