I want the end of my life to be like
the end of this day by the October sea,
as pale yellow cumulus clouds spread
toward the west reflecting the setting sun.
The dying sky melds into the sea that sways
leisurely toward the shore.
Waves tumble gently in perfectly curled
lines, splash easily in long, foaming tresses
licking softly across a small rise
into a string of wading lakes like
lingering memories catching
the last light of the day.
The diehards shake the sand
from their blankets, fold their chairs,
gather up reluctant children
and sundry provisions, head in,
leaving the sea, the sand and salt air
to its natural peace.
Dusk here is a lullaby that sings the day
into evening, then hums into the night
like the incoming tide drifts onto the strand.
It is the time of the last repast, before
small talk of love and remembrance
that ends with a long sleep.


© by Beverly Finney.
Used with the author's permission.