Symphony of the Tides

A pulse beneath the ocean’s skin,
A hymn begins where depths begin.
The waters weave their endless thread,
Their voices rise, though never said.

The moon, a maestro in the sky,
Conducts the waves with silver sigh.
Each crest, a verse, each trough, a pause,
A sonnet shaped by nature’s laws.

Salt-laden winds, with whispers sweet,
Embrace the shore where tides retreat.
Each grain of sand, a fleeting life,
Cut sharp by time, by current's knife.

The coral gardens breathe and glow,
Their hearts beat slow, yet ebb and flow.
Each fragile polyp hums in tune,
A chorus sung beneath the moon.

And in the depths, the whales’ lament,
A song of ages, vast, unspent.
Their cries cascade through liquid halls,
As echoes brush the ocean walls.