Throwing pebbles off the beach
A perfect sea
Or at least so I am told
By an oldish lady
Throwing pebbles at a tin can
The quiet then snapped
By the seventh wave landing
With a reasonably ubiquitous crash
Beside the seaside
Squashing pebbles into our bottoms
A vast sea
Or at least I do believe so
With a one hundred and sixty
Degree horizon
The delineation marked
By the last green line of darkness
And the first sky blue of sky
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