Old Neptune

Always changing, moving, rising and falling. I love to stand by a sandy strand and yell at the ever-rolling ocean. I go down to the restless seas and tidal lakes, I go down as an exiled Neptune goes down to shake my trident in a brazen joy and defiance, to be part of that upheaval of the sea but not in it. I love the tides how they move us in and out of one space to another. I am brave no more, I am water in the mouth of a fleeing fish, it is my unspoken secret. The ocean is too dangerous for a man of my stout age. Neptune now reigns within straw huts or beach front mansions. Too much salt and I gag. Yet I love to go (at a distance), to meet the seas stormy depths, to wave my arms, to lift my trident high, to spin it like a baton otherwise, what is it good for? The very worst day for me is a day becalmed, a day without ebb and flow. No need to pity old Neptune, I never did like shellfish.