Do I Forget?

Standing on the rock above the wild sea
        listening to the cry of the gulls,
        the waves below me form and gurgle,
        the pebbles groan,
my eyes swing up to the transparent sky.
        Cry of the gulls,
        form and gurgle of the waves,
        groan of the pebbles,
I hear nothing, but these voices of my love.
Were I but with my love
        —trembling, gurgling, laughing—
        touching of soft and tender pebbles.
I am with my love.
It has been several decades since I left;
still I can hear it, I can feel it.

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