Along the boundary line where land meets sea
The cliff face leaves the sand behind to rise
A barrier, firm against the spray and breeze
A match for howling gale and rising tides.
Each day it’s there, each day it stands its ground
The frontline in a battle centuries old
A fearsome foe, immovable and sound
unstirred by rain or shine, by heat or cold.
But water takes a longer view of things
Each day attack, retreat, attack again
And slowly, oh so slowly it begins
to chip away each tiny little grain.
Immovable? of that I’m not so sure
that cliff seems slightly smoother than before.
(c) Rich Clarkson 2010