As I stood looking out from the shore,
He pulled deep in the wave, with his oar.
The curtain of fog over the sea,
His presence slipping away from me.
The waves crash fiercely onto the rock,
Misty air hangs thick, life it does mock.
For what lies beyond beauty, are waves,
Strong, ripping, piercing water of graves.
This surfer must try to take his chance,
Ride the wave below, this is his dance.
The ocean currents, riptides and all,
For him bring meaning, the sea does call.
So out beyond the curtain of fog,
Sit upon his board in misty bog.
This surfer waits til the time is right,
Upon the board, surfer takes his fight.
Riding his wave, gliding to the shore,
To me he returned, to him, one more...