THE CALLING

The ocean is calling - calling – calling

With each wave I hear my name,

But when hopes die the people perish

And my hopes are floundering –

I am flailing –

I am homesick.

I am lonesome for a walk

on my beautiful rockbound coast of Maine!

I didn’t think the last time there would be that -

but now I wonder –

Winter is fast approaching

both in calendar and in season of my life –

The season diminishes the hope of time to spend

along the sand and shore this year…

slushing through the heavy, wet sand,

skipping over the ocean-sprayed moist seaweed-covered rocks,

listening to the waves and the chimes of the buoys

while watching gulls sunning themselves on big rocks

as they appear to pose for the photographers who surround them.

The winter of my life starts to freeze the steps of ease

with which I once moved

from craggy rock to rocky nook

as sure-footed as a deer

and I know another spring-summer-fall

is just around the corner but not for all –

perhaps not for me -

So, yes, my hopes are floundering –

I am flailing –

When hopes die the people perish

But the ocean continues to call…

                           © Marilyn Sue Moore       9-14-2008