Standing on the brink
Of Earth’s salt-briny sink,
And smelling of the wind
That foreign places send,
With seagulls crying high
Over the sea-tides sigh,
I’m standing on the sand-
The crusty edge of land-
And let the tide-wave’s part
Carve patterns in my heart.
When I am long back home
And when my fancies roam,
They hurry to the sea
Who’s roaring power calls to me
To come and be again
Among the waves and wind,
To gaze beyond the sky
Where Heaven calls me nigh.
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