I call it my Masefield moment, maybe
It’s the ancestral sailor in my blood –
Who knows this welling of spirit in me
Bringing with it the freedom of the sea
Beckons from miles away, my thoughts to flood.
Irresistibly, it draws like the tide
That knows no argument or king’s command
But has its way, my captive thoughts to guide
Down by the shore, where last the sea-gulls cried -
Once more to fill the silence their demand.
A cool breeze turns a magnifying glass
To sea air and sky, quick the artist hand
The detailed scene, of salt spray and of sand,
Of early morning walks, of hours to pass,
The timeless sea creeping beside the land.
