What strange moving splendor,
That comes without our call,
That plays a rushing symphony
With long white fingers on the sandy shore;
That comes and comes, always coming
And always more.
Something deep within keeps pushing
Up and outward, then
Comes again and plays its song.
Again it comes in flowing dance
From depths more filled,
More varied than the rainbow shells
It leaves along the sandy shore.
Somewhere within my depths
Flowing rapids of wonder, filling, flooding,
Love bursting upward
Coming wave-like without call
Outward tides surging,
Embracing, surrounding all.
It is my dance, my song, my call.