While rust and tide invade and salty mist encamps,
I may decay, or age, upon their onslaught.
I may display some tremorous shiver, at their grip
as their fingered touch seeks bone and sinew
beneath wool and cotton unequal to their task.
This chill assault may batter my battlements
making patterns on my walls with its eroding whispers,
may send me beneath my collar seeking shelter.
But my heart is safe, my soul is free,
as we pound this beach alone
just You and me.