Sea Note

 

The sea in its seasons

Need not supply reasons

For flipping and slopping,

For wetness and swish,

For frothing and chopping,

And swirling its fish,

For rising and falling

And endlessly calling

In tones most appealing

Or groans quite appalling

Which scatter its gulls

And shatter ship hulls

Dispensing despair

Through wild windy air.

For, whatever might be,

The sea is the sea

Which gives not a damn

About beauty or fear,

About life, about death,

About wonder or fizz.

The sea merely is.