The Troubles by L. M. Montes

Before me rolled the ocean
in to shore then ran away,
tis like a problem,
washing over,
then gone to bug another day.

There stood on wooden steps
my thoughts aloft and set adrift,
a noise behind me niggled,
with crescendo starting in
to send me to an early crypt.

But I moved past in safety’s arms,
ignoring evil’s threats,
the noise rolled in,
then ran away,
for me it did not get.