Beneath the droning planes,
Beached before the tides,
A lone perhaps lonely drummer,
Keeps time,
As the ancient ones before her,
Mallet after mallet,
Skin upon skin,
Beats on into the noise.
Why, the wonders wonder,
Does she beat on just for her?
To keep her heart pounding forward,
Her movement time may cure?
Or does she hammer on for the rest of us,
Without mastery of time,
For whom the ocean keeps,
A lone steady beat,
Ancient evermore?