The trees on my sea are lively
They sway with the song of the waves
‘Round me loud gulls are crying
Singing of unfettered days
Song of wild waters
Song of grief riven
Song of paths taken
Song of the place of my grave
I took me to an old sturdy vessel
A vessel that would carry me hence
A vessel syne hardy of sea years
A vessel of sinew and strength
To take me to silence
A silence of stillness
When in truth
All society was spent
In morning of lightness
The sun just arising
In quietness I boarded my craft
Aboard salt tang’d waters
Waters grey tipped
To seek me the mighty great wrath
Cloaked heavens a-swirling, chilled garments wrapped closely
Engine started; now to take the lone path
I felt old boards creaking and groaning
As we made from the jetty at dawn
Sweet saline tide waters
Waters of good life
Through rustling reed beds smooth worn
Heron necks a-stretching
Stretching with searching
Dress grey plumage a still life forlorn
Tip-tilted turned we a corner
As swift moving water
Took a determined push on
I leant with my craft, alive to long call
As near to the east I could see
Beginning choppy sea-scape
Choppy waters that heave
The sight of the wild northern sea!
Depths deepening now I can feel you!
You up-turn the lift of her prow
Reaching and lunging before us
Gray-green horses let loose
Run mighty moon-tide
Hard thump of the keel
Surge rush out of bounds
Here she goes!
Now the huge swell of the ocean!
Meeting the soul of our minds
Find me that space in the sea-lands
Where forests of gale-sagacity line
Place of belonging and wholeness
Place of gentle decline
Place where there is but a moment
To rest in a moment of time
There! I see now before me
A land I can truly call home
Land of an ending beginning
Land of a sojourn sublime
Here I shall make my last dwelling
To be amongst harsh tenderness
For I see an ocean of forests
That melts all past sense loneliness
True to the wind that is blowing
True to the lull of the waves
The trees on my island are dancing
To welcome me home to my grave
Think not that this is a pity
For all must take their demise
To see it, to name it, accept it
Surely, this is the realm of the wise
Cleave to this haeme-land of wind-swept
Lightly she lives for a while
Bringing bright mornings of clearness
With skies a-wash with her smile
Yes, I am old and I’m weary
Yes, I am tired of sick days
But here on a forest sea island
I find me a place for my grave
CLICK HERE TO DONATE TO OUR CROWDFUNDER
HELP US BECOME STRONGER SO THAT WE CAN CONTINUE TO DELIVER POWERFUL CITIZEN JOURNALISM!
