When all
My waterfall
Fancies sway away
From me, in the sea's silence;
In the time 
When the tide moves
Neither forward nor back,
And the small waves
Begin rising whitely,
And the quick winds
Flick over the close whitecaps,
And two scoters fly low,
Their four wings beating together,
And my salt-laden hair
Flies away from my face
Before the almost invisible
Spray, and the small shapes
Of light on the far
Cliff disappear in a last
Glint of the sun, before
The long surf of the storm booms
Down on the near shore,
When everything - birds, men, dogs -
Runs to cover:
I'm one to follow,
To follow.


 = David Juda