White Foam On The Bark Of The Tree

The wind moves soft through silver air, A hush upon the waking sea, And morning spills its golden light, On white foam on the bark of the tree. The waves have whispered through the night, Their hands have shaped the fleeting spray, Now pale as ghosts in trembling light, They gleam and softly fade away. A moment caught, a breath held fast, Yet time dissolves what cannot stay, Like love that flickers, fails, and past The trembling dawn is washed away. Oh, let me be as foam so light, To touch the earth and kiss the sky, A fleeting thing, a hush, a white Soft echo as the waters sigh.