The happy dead are in its voice, majestic poet! Might I be as full of song. Melodies of seafarers past haunt each true and measured step.
Lilting, ever-lifting; an offering from the weary mariner to Neptune’s ear. Accompanied in breath and beat repeats the symphonic sound of a lunar baton. Maestro of the night, unwavering. Building to crescendo, euphonious. Tympani, cacophonous crash; an introduction to the score so written. And hidden within languishes water’s rhythmic cadence, lyrical expressions of heart and soul, left to wash away traces of the moment. Never ending refrain, sing again!
crash of waves resound
long after sun seeks her rest
water quells her thirst
© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2017
**Inspired by “On Seeing A Train Start For the Seaside” by English poet, Norman Rowland Gale