Gray clouds, nearing black
And blowing low
Over Tillamook Head.

Dingy Seagulls,
Huddled tight and close
As the driving sand assaults them.

A wisp of salt,
Smelled faintly
As mist leaves an errant wave.

There is a storm on the horizon,
Forcing an early dusk,
As enormous winds
Sing their ominous song.

Haystack Rock looks on,
Appraising all within her kingdom;
Benevolent queen,
Subjects of flesh and stone.

We have gathered here again,
So long ago
That all memories are new.
In your child's eyes
I see my own waning years;
And in yours,
Desperation,
Knowing as you do,
The score.