The Sea Calls Me
My heart yearns not for the mountain-way,
With its green of grass and tree;
My heart calls out for the ocean spray,
And the sound of the surf rolling free!
Give me a land with its feet in the sea,
Its low-swelling shoulders nearby.
The voice of the waves is a music to me,
And the cry of the gulls is my cry.
Cast me not out on your hot desert sand,
Where the salt-tanging airs never rest.
Give me space on an ocean-washed strand,
With a flicker of foam on its breast!
When the storm clouds build to a thundering groan,
And the wind whips the trees on the shore,
With a rip and a roll and a deep wailing moan,
The swell charges in with a roar!
Still, even then, with the needle-sharp spray,
Dancing its pain 'cross my face,
My soul ventures out and is swept far away,
On the crest of a fast ocean race.
Thrilled to the core by the need to be free,
Not bound by this weak mortal form,
It pitches and dives and races the sea,
And rides on the wings of the storm!
Lighter than down and stronger than steel,
With a knowledge as old as the sea,
That this is the way my soul will feel,
Perched on the brink of eternity!
Written by my wife Vera Selena Hinshaw
© All Rights Reserved
Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2010
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