As soft breezes stir the sedge,
I hear gentle sounds
of wind whispers
telling tales of long ago
beside this sea.
The clamor of waves
colliding together
against massive monoliths
rising from the nether depths -
I wonder
what stories would I hear
if sand and shells could speak.
Each grain of sand
before it came to land here
lay in some distant place.
Where was that? What have they seen?
Never mind. I can conjure
up my own imaginings,
bold yarns of derring-do
told over mugs of rum,
each more incredible than the last.
Sagas of old salts
who remember little else than
life before the mast.
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