A thousand miles beyond this sun-steeped wall
Somewhere the waves creep cool along the sand,
The ebbing tide forsakes the listless land
With the old murmur, long and musical;
The windy waves mount up and curve and fall,
And round the rocks the foam blows up like snow,
Tho’ I am inland far, I hear and know,
For I was born the sea’s eternal thrall.
I would that I were there and over me
The cold insistence of the tide would roll,
Quenching this burning thing men call the soul,
Then with the ebbing I should drift and be
Less than the smallest shell along the shoal,
Less than the sea-gulls calling to the sea.
by SARA TEASDALE (1884-1933)
Public Domain Poetry
unbolt me 
Tony,
Very inspired. Hope all us creatively well.
Thanks, Gary
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Thanks, Gary!
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This speaks to me.
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Yes, there’s something about staring out at the sea’s horizon. It steals my mind while the rest of me aches with a longing for something I can’t even name. This poem really captures that, I think.
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I agree with you, Tony
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