As I put this pen to the page
I listen to each crashing wave
Land stripped of dryness, not one rock saved
Soaked in pity as the cycle's relentless phase
Ocean provoked tranquility, lessening the pain
Opened up the tears that fill each day
The land's cry so fierce that the sound remains
Can't stand in fear so it screams in shame
Year after year, the land's face changed
Aged more than it should but to the ocean he remains
Cripped and disfigured but the core still the same
The soul still lives, waiting to be saved
