The Stormy Atlantic

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.