Coastal Exile
The sea sings songs of brine to me,
A salt bravura in its singing,
Here foam falls featherly,
And pebbles mimic pianos ringing.
I am so much an inland man,
My orchards orange with the sun,
Diapason of the ocean swell
Awakes a half-forgotten song.
‘By the mountain lake,
splash of waves
Comforts the
traveller,
In the autumn uplands,
flowering grasses
Sigh like the sea’.
There leaves fall featherly?
(Is it only a flimsy imagination?)
There leaves fall featherly.
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