The sailors wife

In between the dark gray cowl and the bluest waves

Morns first glare strays to the shore

Enfeebling furthermore the night and gust,

As if a shadow there.

Amid the amber surf

Looking forever eastward, to the raging sea,

Dark hair streaming in the wind and drizzle

Bathed in the suns first caress,

she waits.

Upon her brow a slight taint of distress,

Enough to show she is made of flesh.

And pining for one that in the tempest

During the night was caught.

 April 2015