357 - So many stones upon the beach. Who owns

So many stones upon the beach. Who owns
The stones? Who moans when winds blow like cold souls
Upon the lonely beach? Who is it loans
The stony moany lonely land that rolls
From new-mown lawns to foamy seas, and holes
Dug only by sandworms. And the term’s gone
When children roamed. The dawn’s born: now eve tolls
As clouds crowd out the moon, and winds moan on.
Do the stones feel alone or feel as one?
Do the winds own their moany growing groans?
As moody brooding cloud moon-shroud unfolds,
Is morning’s moon allowed, or has she shone
And gone below the lonely foam-filled stones,
Like some old soul’s return to burning coals.
Mon 27 Aug 2007