The Ocean Sang Me Its Name

Look above son! A flying kite,
Rustling in the wind erudite,
Shower of azure amidst a scarlet hue,
Her eyes moisten for you.

Chirrup of birds in my garden blithe
As a summer and rainbow upon me shine,
As we sail away in the distant sea,
A tear seems to form in melancholy.

March of feet in a glorious March
To the call of a pearlescent monarch,
Singing minstrels adorn their way
And the ocean sang me its name:

“She took a plunge of faith in me,
In my robes glistening azure – her shawl
And as she slept on my bed in peace
A tear down my cheek, I let fall.”

So I gazed into my chiming clock
And saw the long forgotten dock,
Where there appeared men from afar,
Thus in hope, I kept my door ajar;

In hope of a song so very old
Of a city made solely of gold,
A crow told me now it was all cold
And hot tears I failed to withhold.

And I knelt by the ocean’s side
Gazing at the opalescent kite,
One with the ocean – I slowly wane
And the ocean sang me its name:

“Come to me, my valiant son,
Feel my warmth, my azure shawl,
And no longer for worldly pain yearn
As a tear down my cheek, I let crawl.”