Tuesday, May 25, 2010

Salt Water

When I first saw the ocean
Standing in the waning light
Of an east coast evening
It seemed to me a dead thing
Ominous in it's size and wholly alien
And my father, more accustomed to the sea
Pointed out England
His hand on my shoulder
Reassuring and steady
His huge voice mingling
With the crash of wave on cliff
Suddenly so close I could feel the spray
Clean, pure scent of the Atlantic
Which is not dead at all
But so alive that I couldn't comprehend it
The mother of the world
My father's gift to me

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