On the Crest of a Wave

On an early morning walk along the shore I pondered thoughts about the ocean floor What treasures are buried beneath its sands Amid corals, anemones, orange sea fans I wanted a key to unlock the seabed's door On the crest of a wave, what had been carried bobbled and lobbed, back and forth parried from shore and blown across windswept seas Miles traveled by storms or a tropical breeze on ocean currents, their journey never tarried In a shallow tidal pool, a conch was stranded A gift from Poseidon's hand, I'd been handed I held the shell to my ear and then listened awed by the sound while the sun glistened Waves crested until on the beach they landed With perfect rhythmic cadence they swelled on a high tide until its last ripples were felled Another always followed, close upon its wake constantly flowing as if it had a thirst to slake quenched by rushing ashore as if compelled Buoyantly, bottles drift on the crest of a wave Directed by the whims of tides, as if a slave No ebbing waters have ever ferried one to me I ponder how many notes drowned in the sea, bottles speared by Neptune. Forsooth, a knave!