The purple throes of fashion wash
Upon the shores of a treeless beach.
The tall trunks of the missing tree cast
Their shadows of serenity,
And imaginary nothingness reaches to touch the tide.

The many places and faces in which to hide
And the searching to confide the past
Of transient fashions reaches
Out to play some capricious sanity.
Then the new few, set up so posh,
Sit in the shadows upon the beach.

But the treeless trees dream upon the shore
And upward touch the sky, for there is no more.