She stands
firm above the tempest
confidence exuding from her
She emanates
a crackling of kindling
against the piercing spray
Her edges fray
a benchmark of her knowing age
and an indication of resilience
A being
guided into balance
by surer hands than mine
She beckons
to be revered
Yet threatens
as they draw near
They wait
not yet sure
if errant hands will mar her
or steady hearts will paint her new
They step

ready for the end of wait
They start
slow at first but building rhythm
They touch
They feel
They live

She ends
her time run out
the sea clawed high
the wind whipped rough
the life drained deep

You stand
hands uncertain with a choice to make
Perhaps her stones will fall to you
Perhaps you’ll paint them all anew
You could love her if you chose to
or leave her in her grace

Will you tempt the fates?
or let them dream while longer?
Be certain of your answer