I vow to never be land locked—
no Kansas home for me.
There I’m bound to stray off course.
My compass is the sea.
I wouldn’t choose to be walled in
by trees, however grand.
My soul seeks to see beyond
the frontiers of the land.
I would wither, stranded far
away from salty breeze;
I need the sea—but not to sail—
just the air to breathe.
Let me open windows to
the wide Pacific skies,
to deep azure waves that soothe
and wash over my eyes.
If bad luck obscures my way,
then orient me west—
away from morning’s rising sun
to where it sinks for rest.
