She’s a fair dream — writing,
When the muse sings clear,
As larks at dawn,
She’s fair as sunlight on seafoam.
She’s like the ocean,
A slate when still,
Cold as knives in her dead season,
Riled with passion when spirits gust over her.
Many seek her,
But are unready for the hard work of water,
Questing for the great ocean,
They see instead her vastness,
But fail to know the long ages it took to make her.
Many more seek to rule her,
Some by taming the rivers that feed,
Others by claiming the sea for their own,
But all boundaries crumble to her gentle touch,
And she knows no master.
It is wisdom instead to dance with her,
and to laugh,
For we become her,
Or make for her but one season,
As she will ever endure.
A fair dream writing,
To grin at all the would-be poets,
And laugh at all profiteers,
Who only dream of dreaming,
And never touch the sea.