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