A dying moonbeam
With painted nails
Winding upon
The sandy trails
The course grass cuts
Its painful thrusts.
Its dagger sharp
In violent dusk.
Saddened faces
Here again
Moment time
Bitter refrain
Violent shore
Fifty yards away
Kisses sands
Thoughts astray.
In torch light
Touching up her nails
Waiting for her man
Who went away
Its thirty years
Seems like yesterday
In memories
That still sway.