The tide washes a pattern of sand
You brace against rain
Turn your head to face land
Hooded, hidden away, unable to explain
The cold of the November storm
Moves round the headland
Takes on the clouds, changes form
Forces you to consider, take a stand
Feet and hands turn to ice
You want to return home, be warm
But this is your sacrifice
You understand, you can’t conform
You stare to the clouds
Answer back the cries of the gull
The wind forms your shroud
Moulds to the shape of your skull
Inside your head you dance
Find a rhythm to live by
Face the sands, the grey expanse
Wait, not yet ready, wait for the reply
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