I will not burden myself with a lie,
As large gray swells begin to pound the shore,
I know, the worst to come isn’t far behind;
sand bags are filled to block our cottage’s door—
and none too soon; the whole Atlantic, lined
with swelling crests, invades the wintry beach
in ranks that break—reform. In one wide sweep
huge waves assault the granite cliffs and reach
inland with greedy tongues. I watch them leap
toward our windswept home, lick at the shed
and sweep it out to sea. Amidst the spray
I see a dozen lobster traps, all spread
among sea muck and foam in wild array—
I add my voice to those who cry to Thee
for ev’ryone in peril on the sea.
Should I write down a song of fervent love,
Perhaps consult some dusty catalog
With names of those whom I had held above
The merits of a banter’s dialogue?
The one, who one day entered my domain,
Was sudden spring in pure sonata form;
My virtuoso she would then remain
To play our souls’ Appassionata storm.
When perfect love ennobles mind and heart,
It cannot ever be confused with lust;
Our bond may break, for death must do his part
To cast aside our lifetime’s ring of trust
And strip us of our caring mortal shell—
But we have lived in love—and we loved well.
© 2016 Jerry Kemp