Do You Have a Song?

When Whitman said make your life a song, had he spoken to old whalers? Did they tell him of nights becalmed on a pacific salty sea, when no sound of lapping waves, or rope stressed wood, could interfere with the silence in the hold? Did they tell of a time beyond sleep long after the oil lamps were shut down? When the silence of the briny deep was broken by the eerie songs of whales, oozing through the wooden walls. Did they know, then, what they heard, or did they talk in hushed tones as ancient seamen did, of harpies and sirens and devils of the deep. Did some say, "Those are our prey." and recognize the song and even familiar melodies and laments from earlier seasons spent plying these same seas. Short songs and long songs, and new songs built upon old songs, pod songs and fractal songs, and interminable songs of pain and love songs that can be heard by those who hear from one edge of the basin of the sea, under to the other edge. Do you have a song? Have you worked on it each season? Is it short and repetitious or have you worked to improve its sound each turning of the moon? Is it deep and subtle? Does it provoke a laugh? Would I recognize it far away on a dark and briny night? Would you mind if I wove my song in and out of yours? Do you have a song?