The Amber Seeker ©

In the early morning hours
At the lonely beach of Sylt,
A male shape walks stooping,
Like he would carry a large load.
Winter's cold creeps through his coat.
The shivering hand is firmly
Clasping a knaggy stick.
Black wood has been
Overflowed by spraying foam.
Stones sparkle there, in a competition
To his amber coloured eyes.
Before the roaring sea
The amber is snatching from him,
The man carefully is picking all up
To pass it into his coat pocket.
With trained view and bowed head
He will, like each morning,
Keep on moving-- satisfied.