A poem simply sounds the bell, of that which words could never tell.


The snow-white moon then slips and hides
Her face inside a black, lace shroud,
In sombre mood, to vex the tides,
Decides that magic be allowed,
A secret hex will spell the curse
To set an ocean in reverse,
Tugging wave-top silvered spray,
Demanding currents change their way.
When spent, her temper soon subsides,
Content, she glides from out the cloud.

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