The Yellow Ocean – a pastoral poem

I remember walking through a windblown ocean.

I can see a lonely walker in the distance.

His life a living preconceived notion.

Yet the world he wonders does not share his penance.

The yellow rolling tide around him whistles with pride.

The trees they stand like rocks against the grassy wake.

They look on the flowing ground and give sigh,

It shivers down their legs and through the roaring spate.

The river, it cuts through the torrent like a ship.

It’s ripples leave behind a mossy bank.

This bank provides a lull while the tenants sip,

To the tenants of this mossy hull they say it’s swank

.

In the midst of this pastoral opera, we are given a gift,

It sings a different tone, The gift is company,

We were never meant to live alone.