Step beyond the foam-capped edge,
listen closely, dare not to blink,
for the shoreline whispers secrets, urgent, now. Unless we heed,
echoes will disappear like waves drawing sand back to the unseen depths,
rhythms forgotten or suppressed. Persuade yourself—no, be persuaded,
for reason will unveil mystic truths unmasked only at salt's edge.
Do you hear? The calls of ancient mariners?
Desperate, haunting, yet persuasive, they summon you
towards horizons uncharted, futures unexplored, where
possibilities roll like drums, breaking upon you and sweeping
away the mundane with a tidal force irresistible.
Wise, wise, the granite that bows to power
redirects, persisting in a choice not made but flowed, emerging
undeniably, futures likely unfolding, futures, attractive
embrace promised by the unpredictable waves.
Reconsider, recommit, re-prospect the future!
For the tune here's sung directs your ear,
southward or perhaps eastward maybe,
certain flux dictates unyielding vectors—
preserves yours and all echo that sought shoreline truth.