The scattered pages of a book by the sea
Held by the sand, washed by the waves
A shadow forms cast by a cloud,
Skimming by as eyes of the past, but the rising tide
Absorbs them effortlessly claiming.
They told of one who tired of all singing,
"Praise him, praise him."
"We heed not flatterers," he cried,
"By our command, waters retreat,
Show my power, halt at my feet,"
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