Low Tide in Rye
It is low tide in Rye, and all along the coast
the tidal bottoms are revealed, Muddy
and smelly, generations of death and rot,
exposed for a time, foul and magical both,
For it is in the mire life often begins,
where the remains become food,
becomes all the new beauty we love most,
full of color and adventure,
and if it has to be exposed now and again,
rejoice, for it is the beginning point
of all that is good.
About this poem.
About the salt marshes in Rye, New Hampshire, and about life in general. My life anyway, where the best of things have often come out of the worst of times.