First Impressions

The moon rolls her winter tongue

Along the spine of the tide;

Both are as cold as bare feet

In frozen sand, and

Just as equally beautiful,

For at this time of day,

Before even the sun shows up,

Everything is new; and 

We and the waves and 

The gulls and the shoals,

Are all the first to witness it:

Cottage lamps stir

Like candle lights

Overlooking sheets of sea,

Compressed between clouds

Of gravestone grey, and

A beach, the colour of tea.

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