Not Waving But Drowning (Sandbar)
What would it be if I went about,
pining, whining, given to shout,
would anyone know I was caught in a daze,
gone to a mind spell, lost in a maze?
Would, in a flurry I come rushing out,
a river of mud so careless without
a waving spectacle so bemused.
Who, in a moment could refuse
to look, and look upon with doubt.
'What is she doing out there, has she gone mad?'
With happiness, at least, it can't be that bad.
'But she is on a sandbar and the tide is coming in.
Doesn't she know her future looks grim?
Heaven forbid, I hope she can swim!'
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