My Lot

The puddles shine like glass
on dampened, trampled trails;
the rivers run each day
where the forest stays and stales—
well fit, they say, for me.
But I can hear the sea.

Perhaps the pond that rests
among the browning hills?
The crystal lake that skirts
the mountain’s cedar frills?
Enough for all but me
for I have seen the sea.

My feet have felt the sand
where earth and ocean meet,
the sea waves teasing with
their steady, charming beat—
the song God wrote for me
to draw me toward the sea.

And I could sail for aye
these endless, ebbing tides
through storm and waters still;
the course for none besides,
the only place for me—
upon the sparkling sea.












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