Sea, she
The sea calls me.
Some days I answer,
Worship at the threshold
Like an awed neophyte.
Other days I resist,
Turn around to woods,
Walk away, fingers in ears
Refuse to hear the siren sound.
I return, of course:
Sit on shingle, skim a stone,
Watch the ever-changing moods
Never the same from one day to the next:
Storms and smiles,
Shimmers and shades.
Natural born killer
Provider of plenty
Endless, mysterious,
Yet fluidly simple.
No wonder they refer
To oceans as She!
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I love this one.
“Natural born killer
provider of plenty”
oh yeah
thanks, mark
Aren’t ships also referred to as “she?”
michael j
They are indeed.
I met an old sailor a few years back who referred to the sea as his mistress whom he couldn’t stay away from though it had cost him his marriage…