No footprint in the sand

I was all alone on the beach
strolling towards the red sun
lying on the western horizon;
T’was when night had begun.

Every step I took on the wave
beaten beach, the silver sand
rose up between my ten toes,
and thus leaving on the land

my footprints of the evening,
till the murmuring waves swept
away the tracks I made, leaving
no memory of where I stepped.

Years later I went to that beach.
It then seemed to roar cheekily:
‘Why, you’re back’ as if it knew
I’d again fail to leave any memory.