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Apr 2022
With the Sun I arose,
Away from My Love,
To greet the day,
Turning a glance once more,
Determined feet frozen,
Morning eyes strained,

I caught the curves of My Love,
Undulating as the hills,
The valleys,
Of a land that beckoned,
The weary ragged sailor,
Filling his sea-limbs with hope,
Of a destiny arrived.

Oh, dream not salty vagabond!
For this apparition be real,
Hasten yourself to see,
For the beauty of such unknown,
That was always there,
Before your discovery,
Before your awake.
Not a mermin's foil,
But a creation of God.

The unassuming beauty,
The presence itself,
What fear you Sailor?
Is this not your isle?
Tramping the seas,
You called out in your sleep,
As the currents and winds,
Swept you at will,
Now you have discovered paradise,
Will you say it to the world?

She sleeps on, My Love,
She dreams of a man,
Worthy and deserv'ed,
To travel her lands,
Over hill and down valley,
Hand in hand.
Cormac
Written by
Cormac  50/M/France
(50/M/France)   
128
 
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