Sea path shimmers beneath the Autumn sun.
Above the wash of waves the wind does sigh.
I know that time and tide eternal run,
Yet I am haunted by a seagull’s cry.
Memories ebb and flow and call up ghosts –
Flotsam, jetsam upthrown on shores of mind.
Soft lulling swell can’t stem the wayward hosts
Of thought. Tears fall, although the sun is kind.
Lover, brother, first born – departed, gone.
A son remains, stands tall, assured and proud.
Dispels my sadness. Death’s dark knell is done.
I’ll sea-sing him praise, day long, out loud.
The rest, I hope to see them one time more.
In some other land, on some distant shore.
Nicola Tipton
