I slowly stroll along your empty shore, My fingers idly sift the silver sand. I touch the warmth of fresh air with my hand, The sorrow of the past I feel no more. Those many troubled souls have come before, To mend their broken hearts and to expand Their mind by gazing o'er your wide-stretched land, And deafening their worries with your roar. I wish my heart were like your ocean bed, Which always sings perpetual, joyful song, And melts ancient, hardened icebergs of pain. Your soul, I pray, can long stay in my head, When facing life's worst storm, superb and strong, And muster shipwrecked, stumbling self again.