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One from the back catalogue today, from 31 August 2005.
It is the ending of days, last of sun and sand
The wind changes direction, a colder hand
Denoting a sea change coming, unsettled time
Weather not easily forecast, changing clime
Turbulent waves of the spring tide breaking
In their thunder, the language of the making
If we can but interpret it, but subtle are ways
By which we come to learn the book of days
In the rocks, above the tide mark, I can see
A spider's web, spun with design, of an end
In intricate mystery, a pattern to apprehend
Perhaps at best, a woven web of guesses
This way, and this alone, truth expresses
Above, the gulls soar in the wind, a dance
In the air, display of harmony and chance
And their cries rend the air, seeming call
To whatever destiny our path may befall
This is the sea of faith, the shingled beach
Always at hand, and always out of reach.
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