Like a fought-over bed, the ancient rock
tumbles, crumbles to the shore.
The ferry waits to leave the dock.

Spinning, wind-whipped, on the loch,
struggling against nature in the raw.
Like a fought-over bed, the ancient rock.

The waves heap up, a sudden shock.
Forget for once the thoughts that gnaw.
The ferry waits to leave the dock.

Did you count me lost as you eyed the clock?
Did ...

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