There are times
The wind sings through the trees
And it is the ocean’s voice I hear
The full moon plays with the billowing clouds
But her silver trail paints a path across
Swaying trees are masts heavy with sail
Straining against the playful zephyr
I close my eyes and breathe
Rich scents of salt and seaweed and mystery
The deck lifts and falls beneath my feet
As the wooden wheel responds to my grasp
Alive to my whim
Unknown, exotic lands call
And I yearn to answer.
© 2019 Maggie Grimes
The sea calls to me, stridently or in whispers, she speaks.