Give me the hand of kindness
Rather than the cruel sea,
Give me a warm cozy seat
By a fire, that’s where I want to be.
For the unrelenting sea is cold,
Her waves, like clutching hands,
Grabbing at tossed ships adrift
Looking for safe sunny sands.
Yet something calls within
From some place deep in my heart,
That becomes like the sirens
So I must go and do my part.
When I am by, or on the sea,
I long for firm land and trees
That shade from winds and storm,
Not the constant crashing of rough seas.
Yet when in my bed I lie at rest
The sea calls me. “Come child and roam
Across my wide domain, that is best.”
Ann Margetson
30 June 1999 ©
poems99/torn
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