I
Winnows of the winded waves
Swing with a heavy blown petal’s fling.
Warmest gales unfurl warmest of waters,
Unwary the sullen song their pressed wrinkles sing.
Ruffling the matted sheet that stretches to re-cover
The craggy pallet, once wholly it bowered,
That cleaved its coat by extending straw
And staunchly stretched new life with awe.

Derailed, the spread unwitting caught warm gales,
And luffed heatedly its cerulean sails.
With direction now the wallowing oars
Instinctively rowed unto the straw that ripped its land,
Crashing crests to froth upon erroneous mounds.
With staunch determination of an empire grand,
That could only abrade molted char to sand
And left still towers of lush abound.
Yet vengeful and in still soaring scores
A besiege of roaring canters crown,
Crashing a soapy sortie adown.
Rancorous charge, softly still abates
To a sullied surge and the frothy frown
Of an empire invaded by paltry mounds. 
Falling heavily upon their own palace gates.

Even armed mangonels with munitions wrought,
Conflagrate upon the saffron rot,
To warming ash of mellow mead,
That gently tickles the wayfarer’s feet.
Blushing those only who stiller stand
Then adherent eaters of the lotos land.
Softest sooth of Plover’s reed,
Benign grips of bludgeoned sand
And swiftest scud in a comely lot,
Symphonize rotund, and yet cannot
Compose a composition worthy the littoral virtuosi.

Accompany they may yet never lead
A opposing rhythm, a divergent beat.
All must hearken the lapping lilt
Steaming up its lamentation with every slide of silt.
And languid scrapes against the perennial shore
Of undulated crawls that dismally drag adown,
And sulkily seethe to a lambent restore,
Yet still surge against, fighting forevermore.
II
The poet sauntered though the marks of dread,
And he set him down in a lonely place.
Forward settled upon a sandy seat,
Ankles curled about the waist.
Counting those who were fallen but never dead,
Hearkening their steamed songs of disgrace,
The wallowing churn that swung is maudlin mead,
Making the carousing sand drunkenly hold his feet.
And snuggle between his calloused toes.
He watched the reeling sheet of a platy breed,
Slap against the salient straw in a undulated fleet.
Yet warming the air, and lulling its roar,
A besiege perhaps, yet devoid of gore.
Behind him blew up, upon the sandy hill.
Guffawing Plovers, bruiting shrill,
Teeming briery of barbed twill,
And, a warmer gale still.