From A Lake Michigan Bluff

High above the dappled lake

a sandy bluff begins to wake;

sounds of scurries underfoot

tell of creatures there at work.

Down the darkly wooded slope,

past the ancient pines and oak,

past the white-barked birches grand

I view young linden on the strand.

Water’s edge is a lapping wave 

always moving, seeming brave while

creeping, searching, marking the shore;

pushed along by millions more.

Sandpipers there poke and run

in wet sand, below a rising sun;

they look for remnants washed ashore,

or telltale burrows giving more.

A great rosy ball ascends the sky

while gold-tinged clouds attend on high;

streaks of light paint the swells,

flow from where our daystar dwells.