A wave of water chestnuts,
A sea of moving green
Gentle ripples,
This is a different kind
Of ocean
There are no boats
For these waters

Sunrise paints
The world,
Pale green and dusty
These are the soft hours
Mists rising
From grasslands
Gentle meadows

It smells like
Grass clippings,
Bright and green
And growing
These are the sunrises
Near the sea glass
Beaches

Creamy beige,
Dusty ancient pages
Filled with the marks of ages
The wisdom of sages,
Tales of all the far off places

The smell of an old book,
Titles worth a second or third look
Cozy sunlit nooks
Where the words can sink their hooks

Rolled scrolls line the walls
Telling of heroes and their falls
So many lives have dwelled within these halls
And I've come to know them all

There's a small boat on a big ocean
Emerald seas and faded pink sails
Where have you gone? Why have you failed?
Who tells the tales of the travels failed?
The bleached bones on decks
Albatrosses hung around necks

There's a certain bravery in beginning
They once believed Sornieth was flat,
The Thousand Seas falling of the edge of a void
But we still set sail,
Aiming for a shore we might never see

Here's to the mapmakers, the explores
The pirates that braved the seas
Here's to the navigators
The Windsinger's domain
And all the others

Old lace and dried flower petals
***** pastels, no longer new
An aged softness
Like a long used blanket -
Worn and familiar

The shade of a fern,
Against the cream of a mushroom
Deep within an ancient forest
Silk flowers on a window sill -
Fading in the sun

Pale pink of a tiny rose
Delicate as sprigs of baby's breath
The smell of mint and sage
And the patina of an age