Something
to hide
When
it is low tide
It
makes the scene
The
footprints of debris
Volunteers
offer help
It
never takes it up
It's
something to hide
Afraid
it will blow it wide
So
the debris print on the sand
The
scene of ugliness maybe of the shame
The
sound of the whirring wind
“Oh
what is the name?”
The
echo dies in the distance
It's
something to hide
When
it is low tide
Afraid
it will blow it wide
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