Irony
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n arid daylight shines along the beachDried to a grey monotony of tone,And stranded jelly-fish melt soft uponThe sun-baked pebbles, far beyond their reachSparkles a wet, reviving sea. Here bleachThe skeletons of fishes, every bonePolished and stark, like traceries of stone,The joints and knuckles hardened each to each.And they are dead while waiting for the sea,The moon-pursuing sea, to come again.Their hearts are blown away on the hot breeze.Only the shells and stones can wait to beWashed bright. For living things, who suffer pain,May not endure till time can bring them ease.
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