Water, water, dear water, Mater Mare
Where would I be without you, my wet, wet milieu.
Water is the medium that bathes my cells, my blood, my fluid within,
derived from the primordial ocean, aeons ago, still tasting of its salt.
I live bedside the sea, no other place would I, or could I be, born a Piscean.
For the ocean, river, lake, pond, drip and drop, even a pitter, patter splats
sustains me in body and soul.
If I was dragged away from the sea, dripping wet, and I would die.
I willed my ashes to be tossed upon the sea when I pass away. From Water to Water, I be.
Daily I make my pilgrimage to walk along the beach and swim in the ocean waves.
To imbibe the meditative rhythm of the tides and surge of the waves,
to and fro, in and out, surging splashing on the shore around my body.
I walk along the strip of sand washed between tide in and out
so that I leave no footprints to desecrate the beach shore, so perfect.
I love the wedding gown train crescents left
on the smooth glistening wet sand with each wave as it surges up the beach.
At night I hear the sea shanties sung by waves lapping on the shore, moody and reflective.
The sound waves whooshing and hissing, splashing and dashing,
surging up the shore and back is so calming to me and the bird flocks.
Unlike a forest or a park, every day the sea is different, never the same.
Yet like an old friend, forever familiar as the same old sea and ocean.
The rhythm of the sound, and visual surge of images is my meditation
When I come daily to the shore to be refreshed, adore and pay homage
to \'Mater Mare\', the mother and matrix,
and womb of all life, here, on Planet Water.
On a calm day you can hear
all the seashell choir stranded on the beach,
sighing sea shanties under their breath.