The ebb came
And I saw the dead eyes of the houses
And the jealousy of other forgotten things
That storm had not carried thence.
And some more centuries passed over the ebb and flow
And over the loneliness of things forgotten.
And I lay there all the while
In the careless grip of the mud,
Never wholly covered,
Yet never able to go free,
And I longed for the great caress of the warm Earth
Or the comfortable lap of the Sea.