Wind Waves
I was not born to the moors
my roots are by the sea
but on this lofty heath
a grassy and heather tide is heaped
into wind-sculptured waves.
Wind swept days are a good time
to be a thin branch
in a treeless landscape.
You can catch hold of a wind-serpent
in your upheld hands,
a sea-creature born to be
the heartbeat of the sky.
When a deep rain surfs mountains of air
You are pitched pell-mell
onto crashing shores.
I was not born by these surging moors
the sea is my cradle,
but here in the rolling swells
of high heath
I sail my soul and love it.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2020
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