and leave the stone withered on the beach

these are the measures I calculate by
       the music I suspect is the core

as the boatmen
       lazily meander up the pier

but have no interest
       in my needs

content it seems
       to indulge the day

in a fantasy
       of nets and shells

"here", I call aloud,
       "here are my shells!"

but they do not listen
       they listen to that old music