Footprints, drawn and washed.

The rough-rocked shore, where now we mark our way,
by means of footprints drawn along the shore,
where sand leaves trace of paws and child's light play,
and we should love to wander evermore.

What trust can make us feel so light and sure,
when ground and sea will tear and disappear?
We judge not time nor who this life is for,
We join our hands and each forsake our fears.

The sea, a heart, is loudly beating near
our trail, with waves that lap our feet and call
the stones and grains that endless gather here,
and through the pulse of tide do homeward fall.

We mark our way, along the rough-rocked sea,
our footprints drawn, then washed with subtlety.