She makes her home

She lives alone

By the seaside

Her fingers comb;

She folds the foam

By the seaside

She sits and sways;

She makes her way

To your insides

What losses her choices

The years pass;

Her longing ebbs and flows

Her whole life a slow slide

Caught in the undertow

Of the night tide

Her ear's soft cone

Rosettes of folds

Like a seashell

Her timid hands

Smooth out the sand

Where the sea swells

Her tiny sighs

Cut through the night

Like a buoy bell

What losses her choices

The years pass;

Her longing ebbs and flows

Her whole life a slow slide

Caught in the undertow

Of the night tide

Lyrics © 2001 Cynthia Conrad