The Distant Sea

To the sea, to the sea, how I long to be free.
For as one swallow and sea bird flee,
so I too wish to go to the sea.
Give me a proud ship, whose bow will not tip.
One with high mast and sails that do not rip,
and a hearty stern meant not for a squib.
Cast me out and away, from the shores and the bay.
From the speckled green hues and seaweed’s sway,
reaching far to touch water and sky this day.
Guide us through the night, by flickered stars bright.
For a steady hand steers with unwavering sight,
looking ever east for the grey morning light.
Weeks float endlessly by, our crew as birds want to fly.
Through stormy days that turn the stomach in the blink of an eye,
wondering if and when we will ever again see the sky.
In land again we do so find, the teeming wake of our pride.
Our ship a wreckage where kindness does not chide,
a mercy note to those stranded by sand and tide.
Now to the sea, to the sea, how I long to be free.
Bring me back again with temperate ease,
to my lover’s beloved arms across the sea.

Insignia2

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