Far off, I see the saw-tooth coast act stiff.
And slightly closer, Time tells Tide to reach,
With surging froth, to scourge the climbing cliff.
And in a thousand years, that cliff is beach.

The naked top skin of the land lies bare,
Exposed to Heaven in fine naturalness.
While storms have knocked some surface cragged and spare,
Maturing scars hold Beauty none-the-less.

We will find Beauty if go and ask
Although our Inner Vision must be clear.
To hold to Beauty is a blending task
Of Wisdom and of what’s before us here.

Though Beauty courts Immutability,
To walk together to a better end,
All steadfast times must go as Gods decree
For lives are full of energies they lend.

Perfection roots its Soul beyond review.
We morph our notions of the Earth’s sublime.
Our land and sky and sea are always new:
We constantly make Beauty for our Time.

Author: Damian Robin

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