Ocean

I used to spend

each day at the beach,

riding the surf,

crashing to shore.

In winter storms

I would rage against cliffs,

spraying myself all over

barnacle-covered rocks.

I reached high

to the sky,

straining, stretching

to grasp the ship’s beacon,

to touch the gray skies

I spent the spring

in quiet contemplation

of migrating whales,

only disturbed by

pattering showers.

In the summer

I would bask

under the flaming sun,

but down below

I shivered and quivered;

too dark for light

to warm me.

In the fall

I started to rock

and howl as the cold

bit at my toes.

I saw life grow

and life become.

The sun rose and fell

upon my back.

I carried tears of millions

and the faith of all,

and never once did I complain.

For when the world lives

by what you give,

the wind can do no harm.

By Karen Dewey

5/21/02