Note: It has been over four months since I have posted any poetry, original or otherwise. I hope to get back to this practice, as poetry, no doubt, is good for the soul.

Sea Longing

A thousand miles beyond this sun-steeped wall

Somewhere the waves creep cool along the sand,

The ebbing tide forsakes the listless land

With the old murmur, long and musical;

The windy waves mount up and curve and fall,

And round the rocks the foam blows up like snow --

Tho' I am inland far, I hear and know.,

For I was born the sea's eternal thrall.

I would there I were there and over me

The cold insistence of the tide would roll,

Quenching this burning thing men call the soul, --

Then with the ebbing I should drift and be

Less than the smallest shell along the shoal,

Less than the seagulls calling to the sea.

-- Sara Teasdale

Ah, is there any doubt what is on my mind today? A few short weeks until vacation finds my feet planted, barefoot, in the warm sand again.