Seven Tides

 

The first and second tides bleat soft, like sheep;
So soft are they, their waters barely creep
Past infant castles patted in a heap.
The third grows breasts and bristles on the neap;
Upon the fourth our fortunes toss and leap;
The wicked fifth claims what we thought to reap.
The sixth arrives by stealth, while greybeards sleep;
The seventh comes: short terrors – and the deep.

from Island of Dreams: 99 Poems from Mustique Book and CD (Noctua Press, 2007), © Felix Dennis 2007, used by permission of the author.

The free tracks you can enjoy in the Poetry Archive are a selection of a poet’s work. Our catalogue store includes many more recordings which you can download to your device.

Close