A Waxen Sea

Placid is the toll of the iron bell As its resonance washes against the hills And settles into the dry beds and knotted groves Of the sun-parched valley at rest below The morning rises guardedly Over a stirring countryside Illuminating the far off sea A waxen shield, horizon's protector As I stagger up from the sun-bleached tiles Where in night's revelry I laid my head I lean against a rusting lattice and compose my thoughts My waking eyes held spellbound by a waxen sea I raise my hands to the sea beyond Intoxicated by the winds that whip up from her fair shores I'll mind any road, be they tranquil or pestilent Through knotted, olden grove or stone-strewn ruin To wander her fair shores To be adrift in the azure To covet the sea breeze To daydream upon her dunes All in due time Placid is the toll of the iron bell As its resonance washes against the hills