The haunting wilderness awaits you.
The ocean washes the silver sands.
Orla is here somewhere.
The marram grass blows gently in the wind.
Over the salt marshes ravenous gulls cry.
Where is Orla?
The pines tower overhead,
Their dead needles carpet the ground.
An object dear to you rests there.
Dusty paths maintained by the feet of summer,
Hidden now in thick unmoving fog.
You hope she's okay.
