We must be "The Gentle Tide"

 Some still live upon the dunes,

where old stones remember the hands that stacked them.
They speak of legacy as if the sea has sworn to stay still.
They polish the crowns left behind by their fathers,
forgetting that saltwater remembers no names.

But the tide moves quietly.
It does not shout, nor does it break.
It whispers to the shore,
gathering what was, reshaping what will be.
Even the tallest tower must one day meet the horizon.

The world does not take; it transforms.
It folds yesterday into today,
softly erasing the footprints that linger too long in the sand.
What seems like loss is often the earth exhaling,
making room for new steps, new roots, new life.

There is no punishment in the turning of the tide,
only a reminder that stillness is not safety.
To hold too tightly to the shore
is to forget that the sea gives more than it takes—
if only one learns to float.

Those who let the water touch them
find that it carries them further than walls ever could.
Those who stay behind
may never know the beauty that comes
when the world renews itself through change.

The tide is not an ending.
It is a hand, patient and unyielding,
inviting everything—old and new—to dance again.