Sand so soft and brown like myrrh,
Plays across curving dunes and cliffs,
From hills rising and waters deep,
Where he sang of many no name ships,
In a place called Three Cliffs.
The vast echoes of silent wind songs
He sang of things once here, now gone,
Captivating me by his wordless rhythms,
To my great surprise, I began to hum.
I heard a song, three times
But it was him beckoning me,
It whispered, It waved, and I cried,
It was sea was calling me back,
To his home without saying goodbye,
A last smile before casting out,
The waters made blank of the past.
He sang of the sea and the shanty songs
The love of the land, sky and sea; me
Things that were no more and things to be,
Of love and hate and toil and play,
Light and dark and of night and day.
All are fragile, human, nature and creature,
Full of life with a willing fate, were the words
And longing, leaving behind the years of wait,
She heard his calls; He felt her love.
They loved. It was love.
Gone were the old fears without a trace,
With nothing but a remembered face,
To keep in mind when one forgets to believe,
That long ago, she sailed from home
To fall in love again and again,
For he was her song,
Beckoned by the sea.