And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted – nevermore!

Edgar Allan Poe





Gone, my most beloved, adored and necessary ocean. Water as far as the eye can see, waves pounding against the rocks, sand escaping back into the tide, nevermore.

We are left with only dry, scraggly dust, catching at our throats, drying our eyes and our skin. We will have no moisture, nevermore.

There are no dolphins, no whales, in fact no boats to take out into the bay to watch these wondrous creatures play. There can be no boats, nevermore.

We have no sailboats tugging at the wind, no swimming in salt water and no picnics on the beach. Summer fun, nevermore.

We have only sand. Sand with no soul, no heart, no live-giving wet to keep us going, nevermore.

We have no weather, only dust storms, no hurricanes born on lofty winds, no Bermuda Triangle in which to get lost, no Gulf Stream to warm our storms, nevermore.

We are without the life-giving oceans of more than waves and water, nevermore.

We sink into the sand, knowing we are doomed, evermore.





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