Willing fingers of unknown glide across the tide

The envelope strange of shape opens to the words

In all that is to survive another receives and one gives

It is the story of our birth

Bottle rides the waves started by the moon

Time it is the judge of rebellion challenges love

As the pages slowly turn, as live and die, fill the mind

It is wonder, created as there is fear, with an occasional tear

Book just grows size

By the quiet of the moon sad and lonely tune

Words written well, story of history, sometimes tell

It is the winners whose words take the mark

Sketches on a wall reminders of tales tall

Few pass from generation to now

Whales sing of a life before man

Tree fell, rings the story tell, of a life from heaven to hell

In the closing write, days accept nights the bottle floats

Paper and pen in the winds of time predict the end

Thread blends to thought and drifts away

Seas gobble up what is left of pure